


An Unexpected Delivery

by clefairytea



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Gen, M/M, Storks Deliver Babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-10-04 16:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clefairytea/pseuds/clefairytea
Summary: “Hullo there! Residence of the Moomin family?”“Er,” Pappa said, “yes?”The stork smiled in a bright if forced way. The shining badge on her chest read ‘Stork Deliveries: Moominvalley Division’. In one wing, she carried a wicker basket, holding a small creature bundled in cloth.“Residence of the Moomins, son, and adoptive family members, yes?” she said, fluffing up her feathers importantly. “Well, happy day and all that, we have a very special delivery just for you!”--Moomintroll and Snufkin are out, and Pappa has to accept a delivery on their behalf.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Clefairy can you literally write anything normal?" Hahahah nope. I insist upon riding dumb concepts as far as they will take me. We're getting _whimsical_ here.
> 
> Minor trigger warnings for blood, animal (fish) death, poop and vomit (babies are gross, guys), alcohol use, and implications of child neglect/the Mymble just not being the best mother. Put together that list of warnings makes this sound like it's going to be a rough ride but it's all really really light.
> 
> Anyway, this is long and weird. But take it.
> 
> **07/09/2019**: Please check out this [adorable fanart](https://milky-red.tumblr.com/post/187519081998/some-fanart-for-clefairyteas-fanfics-moominland) by milky-red!! Check out her analysis and writing too, it's fab.

It had been a very, very long time since Moominpappa had to fend for himself. Of course, he was still the buccaneer and independent spirit he had always been! He was, naturally, fearless and adventurous. Even if these days he had a bit of a bad hip and his wife fluffed his pillow before bed. And yes, alright, he had once tried to heat up some beans and almost blown off part of his snout. But accidents happened to even the most over-talented of moomins.

There was, really, no reason for his darling wife to worry so much about leaving him by himself.

“There’s some meals packed in the ice-box, if you just want to heat anything up,” she said, pacing around. Snorkmaiden stood by the door, little suitcase already leaning against her hip, looking quite eager to be off.

“Now, Mamma, I fended for myself my entire childhood, don’t you remember?” Pappa said. Mamma gave him a smile, crinkling at the corner of her eyes.

“Of course, dear, but that _was_ a rather long time ago.”

Well then! Rather long time ago! Indeed!

“Don’t sulk, dear. We’re old enough to be grandparents these days,” she said, chuckling as she checked everything in her handbag for the millionth time.

“Oh that’s a long time off,” Pappa said dismissively. Their little Moomintroll may be taller than him these days, but he was still very young, and a bachelor besides! He hadn’t even built a house yet. Good grief, the lad still asked Mamma to boil eggs for him. No, no, Pappa wouldn’t have to be Moominfarfar for a long time yet.

“Oh I know, but he grew up so fast, I’m sure his wild adventuring days will feel quick too,” Mamma said.

“Mamma, Emma said we need to be at the docks for ten,” Snorkmaiden said, tail swishing. Mamma nodded and kissed Pappa quickly.

“Alright, don’t get into too much trouble on this err – ‘hen party’ thing,” he said, still quite uncertain about the whole thing. Apparently Emma the Stage-rat had ‘hooked up’ (Snorkmaiden’s words, not his) with one of her young actors. It had been both a whirlwind romance and quite the scandal. Snorkmaiden had been hooked on the whole thing, and completely ecstatic about their invitation to this party.

Now, Pappa hadn’t been entirely sure what a hen party was. He had been vaguely imagining some sort of wholesome farm activity, but Snorkmaiden had giggled so hard at that he’d been forced to consult his encyclopaedia collection. A few lines into the entry, he’d quickly slammed the book closed, quite pink in the snout.

As scandalised as he’d been, he couldn’t exactly stop Mamma going. He wasn’t boorish enough to tell his wife what she could or couldn’t do.

Although, he rather hoped she didn’t enjoy any of that _too _much.

“I’m sure we’ll behave,” Mamma said, giving him a quick kiss. “Not sure when the boys are due back, but remind them where we are.”

Ah, yes. Snufkin and Moomintroll had went off on a fishing trip a few days ago, as they were increasingly prone to do these days. Pappa had initially offered to come along – offer his expertise as a more seasoned sailor and fisherman – but for whatever reason Mamma had stepped very hard on his foot and cut him off. So that was out the window, he supposed.

As for Sniff, he was off having his summer vacation with the Muddler and the Fuzzy. The two of them had recently remembered they had a son and were rather excited about the whole thing.

“Mamma,” Snorkmaiden whined, grabbing Mamma’s paw and trying to drag her towards the door.

“Yes, dear, _do_ get out,” Pappa said, pushing her towards the door. As little as he liked them to be apart, she would have a good time, and she would spend hours pacing the foyer and fretting if allowed. She laughed and allowed herself to be steered out, saying goodbye and waving all the while. Pappa stood at the porch and waved them away, breathing a sigh of relief.

Yes, a good long weekend to himself! Just what the doctor ordered for his current project. He would surely get the next few chapters done and sent to his editor. With no family to distract him, it would be a snap.

***

Pappa cleaned his study, re-alphabetised his library, fixed the step on the veranda, repainted the stair railing, and got a start on cleaning all the old mugs.

It was amazing, he thought as he scrubbed the inside of a cup’s handle, what one got done when one was _finally_ left alone. Yes, this was the life for him. A bachelor again! Alone and unmoored and enjoying the wonders of solitude.

He checked the clock.

Surely Moomintroll would be home soon?

Of course, it would be a terrible shame if he would come home and cut Pappa’s time alone short (the past one hour and forty-three and a half minutes had been _wonderful_ and had went _very fast_, after all), but surely it was coming to about that time.

Hm.

Perhaps he would put a pot of tea on, just in case he was on his way back now.

Humming, Pappa pulled over a stool and grabbed Moomintroll’s favourite teapot from the higher shelf. It was heavier than he remembered (or was he just getting that out of shape? No, no, of course not! Perish the thought!).

He set it down, pulled off the lid, and a little monster burst out.

“Boo!”

“Argh!”

Pappa stumbled, falling off the stool and tumbling so thoroughly backwards his tail fell over his muzzle. Little My cackled from the teapot.

“My!” he said, recovering as best he could. “Shouldn’t you be with Mamma and Snorkmaiden?”

He was _sure_ he’d seen Mamma pack her. Little My only snorted, wiggling fully out of the tea pot. She sat on the edge of the counter, legs dangling and arms folded.

“Please. That party is for _ladies_,” she said contemptuously. “Do I look like a lady to you?”

“Not a well-behaved one, that’s for certain,” Pappa said, shaking his head. She grinned as though he’d given her a massive compliment.

“Too right!” she said, leaning her cheek on her palm. “Although that might not be a problem for that party. My mother's invited, you know.”

“Oh dear,” Pappa said. If the Mymble was going then it was _definitely_ going to be a badly-behaved party.

“Mhm. And I didn’t feel much like a family reunion,” Little My continued, sneering at the very thought. Sometimes Pappa wasn’t sure he quite understood this girl. “Not like you, you old fuzzball. Climbing the walls, are you?”

“Ah, of course not! Rather enjoying the solitude, really,” he said proudly. “Sends me right back to days of my youth! Those rough and rowdy days, striking out alone and living boldly.”

“By making tea?” Little My asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Tea is part of both a quiet and a bold lifestyle,” he said, filling the kettle with water.

“Whatever,” she said, shrugging. “I’ll have one, since you’re making.”

“I was rather looking forward to my time alone,” he said, sighing. “My manuscript, you see, needs my undivided attention.”

“I’ll just pop off then,” she said, standing up.

“No, no –“

“I had a score to settle with an ant down the road anyway –“

“Well I’m boiling the water anyway, so you might as well stay.”

Little My sat back down, folding her arms with a look of deep satisfaction. She was a creature too clever for her own good, Pappa thought, a bit fond despite himself. As the water began to boil, there was a knock at the door.

Moomintroll! Perhaps he was home at last. Or maybe Mamma had decided hen parties were much too scandalous for her, and she would rather spend the weekend with her dearest husband. Even better!

He scrambled over to the door, opening it with a grand gesture.

“Ah, welcome ho-“

There were a pair of skinny legs outside the door.

“Hullo there! Residence of the Moomin family?” said the legs. For a second, Pappa quite lost his ability to speak.

“Er,” he said finally, “yes?”

The legs bent, revealing a skinny feathered torso with a badge shining on the chest, as well as a long neck. A white head with a long orange beak followed the neck. The stork smiled at him at a bright, if forced, manner.

The shining badge on her chest read ‘_Stork Deliveries, Moominvalley Division’. _In one wing, she carried a little wicker basket, carrying a small creature bundled in cloth.

“Ah! Need some directions, do you?” Pappa asked. The stork blinked at him, and then checked the pad of paper in her other wing.

“I don’t think so! This is Moominhouse, isn’t it? Residence of the Moomins, son, and adoptive family members?” she said, fluffing up her feathers importantly. “Well, happy day and all that, we have a very special delivery just for you!”

“Now hold on a second!” Pappa said, glancing at where Little My was creeping towards the door, a funny smirk on her face. “I believe there must be a mistake.”

“A mistake!” the stork said, astonished. “Of course not, sir, of course not! The algorithm told me this was exactly where to drop off the, er, package.”

“No, there must be! We are very careful with this sort of thing!” he said. He and Mamma were very careful indeed! Every spring, the second after they awoke from their winter hibernation, they would carefully pen the appropriate letters to the storks, letting them know thank you but no thank you, they were quite content with the family they had.

And they’d taught Moomintroll, for that matter. For the past couple of years, Pappa had been responsibly showing his son how to write those letters, where and when to send them. It wasn’t that relevant to him, uncoupled as he was, but one day he’d need to be responsible himself.

“Why are you so surprised, sir? Did you not receive our letter telling you this happy news?” the stork said.

“Er, I’m afraid we don’t get mail here,” he said. Not after Little My bit the last mailman brave enough to get close to the house. She had taken a rather strong disliking to them.

“Well, there’s no mistake. Look, it’s printed here in black and white,” the stork said, taking a thick and very official-looking wad of paper from her satchel and presenting it to Pappa. There was a great deal of writing (Pappa was sure there hadn’t been quite so much paperwork when Moomintroll had been delivered), mostly about responsibility and happy days and how this was all part of a wonderfully efficient new initiative. Finally, there were two places for the happy parents to sign, and two names, in neat calligraphy.

_Moomintroll, of Moominvalley  
Snufkin, of everywhere-and-nowhere_

Pappa leaned against the door frame for support, and then jumped as a huge laugh burst out right next to his ear. Little My had clambered onto his shoulder to read the contract, and then tumbled back down to the floor, laughing hard enough she began to wheeze.

“Oh dear. There’s definitely some sort of mistake,” Pappa said faintly, but the stork didn’t seem to hear.

“Ah, I see, you’re the lucky grandfather, aren’t you! Apologies, apologies – moomins age so gracefully, you know, assumed you were your son,” the stork said, and then hopped from foot to foot in glee. “Ah, if your son is away, that means we get to use the _Temporary Acceptance Form 6B: Paternal Grandfather Acceptance_. And then I get to come back and use our lovely new _Delayed Acceptance Form 8F_! Oh, what an _exceptional_ start to our new system!”

“No, no, no, oh dear!” Pappa said, flustered and certainly not wanting to read any more forms or – heaven forbid – _sign_ any of them. “I don’t think this is right at all!”

The stork hesitated in the middle of dividing out sheaths of coloured paper, covered in dense, tiny writing.

“It’s not? Oh, dear, don’t tell me – you’re rejecting the child?”

“Well, yes! I suppose I am! Oh good grief, those two are not even –“

“Ah, well…we can do that, but we will have to use _Rejection Form 84c: Extended Family, Paternal Grandfather_, and I will have to take the creature to a foundling house –“

Pappa froze.

“You cannot drop off the child at one of those places, surely?” he said, heart plummeting at the thought. Oh, he’d heard on the wireless and read in newspapers that foundling houses were better places than when he was a boy. Yet the foundling houses _would_ say that, wouldn’t they? He would believe it when he saw it! He simply couldn’t let some poor mixed-up child be taken to one of those wretched places.

“Of course we can. It’s protocol. A rejected child is taken to a foundling house to be raised. We cannot keep them ourselves, sir, except in _Exceptional Case 492a: Rejected Stork Chick_, but –“

The kettle in the kitchen began to whistle.

“Are you making tea, sir?” the stork asked, poking her head through the door.

“…Yes. I think you may want to come in for one. I think we have a great deal to discuss.”

The stork looked sorely tempted, yet she hesitated.

“…You’ll have to fill in _Hospitality Towards Delivery-Storks From 36a: Tea Party to Discuss Tense Matters due to a Comical Overlapping Series of Misunderstandings _for that, sir.”

“Oh good grief, just get inside.”

****

“It’s my first delivery, you know,” the stork said, as Pappa tried to find the tea strainer. “Oh, you’re very lucky. This is the _first_ child of our new programme! We’re all – well, _some_ of us are very excited about it. We’re overhauling the entire system, making it much more modern, much more streamlined. No siree, no more errors or unhappy families for us! Well, we supposed so – milk, two sugars, sir, any biscuits? Rather tired from the flight. No? Hm, well, that’s what you get for hospitality these days – anyway, I’m sure we’ll get this all sorted out.”

Pappa finally managed to serve up the tea, shifting the pot and some cups onto a tray (along with some crumbled biscuits he found at the back of the cupboard), and carted them over for the stork. She looked rather a sight, folded up on their sofa.

It was not that the stork was large, exactly. Not in the way a booble was large. She was simply _long_ – lanky legs and a long neck and wings that knocked over furniture every time she moved. Sat on the sofa, her knees went past her shoulder and she had to fold her neck over to prevent the top of his head brushing the ceiling.

The wicker basket, still quiet and untouched, sat in the centre of the room, with the quiet menace of a bomb that would soon need to be defused. Pappa avoided looking at it.

“So, er, what is your name?” Pappa said, feeling rather awkward without Mamma there to make their guest feel at home. Usually she was the one who would serve the tea and make the introductions and get everyone nice and settled, and then Pappa could step in once the ice had been broken. Breaking the ice himself felt terribly unnatural.

“I’m the Stork Prince, sir!” she said proudly. “Youngest daughter of the Queen herself.”

“Oh,” he said and trailed off, “…how nice.”

“It is!” the Stork Prince continued. “I’m the one in charge of our new system. It was my design, you know.”

“New way of doing things, is it?” Little My asked, scrambling onto the arm of the sofa. “Can’t say I know the old way that well. My mother came up with a very different method, you see, and all you storks decided to just stay out of it.”

“Oh, er,” the Stork Prince said, looking rather uncomfortable with My so close, “hello little one.”

She moved to pet her head and received a bite for her trouble.

“Ow!” she said, jerking his wing back and knocking over the side-table in the process (Pappa wearily got back up to pick it up). “What was that?”

“I’m _not_ a little one.”

“But –“

“She’s twenty-eight,” Pappa said, deciding to get that out of the way now. To his surprise, the Stork Prince didn’t seem perturbed as most people were when learning My’s age (Pappa had needed to lie down for a good half hour). In fact, she positively lit up.

“Oh thank goodness!” she said. “I’m no good with children, you know.”

Pappa and Little My both looked at the basket sitting in the middle of the carpet. The stork sipped at her tea, apparently oblivious that she’d said anything odd.

“Well, as I said,” Pappa said, breaking the long silence with another nervous glimpse at the basket, “This must be a mistake. The two of them aren’t even married, you see, so –“

“Ah! Well that’s the wonderful thing about this new initiative! One doesn’t _need_ to be married any more to qualify,” the Stork Prince interrupted, clearly bursting at the seams to tell them all about it. She tugged a large notebook and pen out of her satchel. “You see, it used to be only a husband and wife that could receive a delivery from us storks. But that’s not the way the world works, is it! I’d been researching it a great deal, and it seems we leave a lot of people out! So we – well, _I_ devised an entirely new system. Using _computers_.”

“Ah, yes,” Pappa said, trying to look as though he knew what a computer was.

The Stork Prince flipped open her notebook, proudly presenting them with a complex, colour-coded, and completely incomprehensible diagram.

“So, I created an _algorithm. _It’s mathematically designed to identify families well-suited to receiving one of our deliveries. It’s based on a very comprehensive set of data. Relationship strength, commitment, extended family quality, kindness, stability, all of that sort of thing! We even extract data from dreams to try and quantify _want_ for a child! It’s all very very clever and subtle. Why, one can be in our system and not even know it,” she said, rapidly drawing yet more lines and annotations to the already dizzying diagram.

Pappa felt rather dizzy. Did the storks really have that much information about people? It seemed a little iffy to him.

“You don’t look at age, do you?” he asked, because that seemed a rather pertinent issue. Everything else aside, while the boys were adults, it was not by much. They were still much too young for any of this.

“Oh, well,” she said, clicking her tongue, “we look at relationship length, so it’s redundant. Taking age out as a factor made the whole algorithm run one-fifth of a second faster, you know!”

“And…er, that’s important?”

“Of course it is! It must be fast!” the Stork Prince said, bristling that anyone would question the value of that one-fifth of a second. Pappa decided not to question it further. He glanced again at the basket, where the bundle of cloth was beginning to squirm.

“Well, I still believe there must be a mistake,” Pappa said. “When I said they’re not married, I meant they’re not even _coupled_.”

That seemed to take the wind out of the Stork Prince’s sails. She put her cup down with a _click_, staring at him with very round eyes.

“_Really_? Are you sure?” she asked.

“Of course I’m sure!” he said, and then hesitated.

A lot of odd moments over the past few months flashed before his eyes. He’d shrugged a lot of them off, but, well -

“Ah, well, I _think_ so anyway.”

“You don’t know?” the Stork Prince asked, bewildered. “You’re his father! Wouldn’t he tell you?”

“Err, well he doesn’t really talk to me about that sort of thing. He asks Mamma,” he admitted slowly. He’d never really thought about it before, and the realisation made him feel terribly lonely.

The Stork Prince didn’t look satisfied. She continued staring at him as though she were trying to work something out. Pappa looked at Little My for help, but she only snorted and shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, buddy. Those two don’t tell me _anything_,” she said, sounding just a little put-out about it.

“But, no, this cannot be right,” the Stork Prince said, “I designed the algorithm perfectly. I ran _dozens_ of simulations to test it!”

“Well,” Pappa said, becoming rather uncomfortable with how upset the Stork Prince was getting, “Perhaps the alogo- algorhyme was right, but the _names_ were wrong?”

The Stork Prince perked up, peeking over her feathers. She looked thoughtful for a second.

“I suppose that could be the case. The names are from our old system, after all…”

“See, now don’t you feel silly?” Pappa said, rather emboldened by the idea. He stood. “Now, I’m sure it’s just a little problem with names. We’ll soon get it sorted out, and you can get the baby to the right parents.”

He went over to the basket, feeling confident he would peek inside and find a little fillyjonk chick or a whomper pup, and all of this fuss would have been over nothing at all. The little creature in the basket was squirming more, clearly awake now.

Pappa leaned over and unbundled the cloth, picking up the little baby.

Oh. Oh dear.

He’d forgotten how white a moomin calf was.

Perhaps it was the child of a different moomin, he thought, rather desperately. Yet, oh, it had a flat face like a mumrik, with a little pointy brown nose. The fur atop its head was thicker than usual, and auburn, the little streak of auburn running along its back to the tuft of its tiny tail.

The little calf yawned and curled up tight in his paws.

Even as small as it was, the little creature did look an awful lot like both of them.

Little My raised an eyebrow at the little beast in Pappa’s paws. The Stork Prince stared hopefully at him, clearly wanting him to declare the whole thing a farce and send her on her way to the correct address.

“Sure doesn’t look like the names are wrong to me,” Little My said, hands on her hips. “Looks like your new system has made a big ol’ mess.”

The Stork Prince sat up to her full height and, without a sniffle of warning, began to bawl.

“I should have known! I should have known I’d make a mess of it!” she bellowed, sobbing.

“Urgh! What will crying about it do, you overgrown feather duster!” Little My shouted up at her. Pappa scooped up the calf, who was beginning to fidget more dangerously, little crumpled ears twitching.

“Oh, oooh, this is a mess! I can’t go back to Mum like this!” the Stork Prince howled. Pappa had always considered himself a rather fantastically sensitive sort – an empath, even – and he always found it terribly difficult to see someone cry. He found it even more difficult when that person was so tall it seemed rather like rain indoors.

Little My snatched an umbrella up from near the door and opened it over her.

“Listen –“ she started, but the Stork Prince wasn’t interested in listening in the least.

“They all told me! ‘Lanky-Limbs this mad idea of yours will never work!’, but did I listen! No!” the Stork Prince wailed.

“Lanky-Limbs? I thought your name was the Stork Prince?” Little My asked.

“_Well I’d like it to catch on_!” she shouted. In Pappa’s arms, the calf began to wail. Oh, strike him pink, he’d forgotten how _piercing_ moomin calf cries were.

“Oh, please do quiet that creature down,” the Stork Prince (or Lanky-Limbs, perhaps, but Pappa preferred to call people what they wanted to be called) said. “I cannot stand children!”

“Isn’t that a bit of a problem?” Pappa asked, trying to remember the stork who had delivered Moomintroll. Lovely man, very calm and quiet, practically doted upon Moomintroll until it was time to leave. Still sent birthday cards, in fact. He could not be more different from the hysterical, gawkish girl before him.

“Yes,” the Stork Prince sniffed, “it’s a terrible failing in a stork, you know. But I just cannot make myself like them, they’re much too messy! Oooh, old Lanky-Limbs, you daft girl, you always have to make things difficult!”

She began wailing even louder, prompting the calf to double their own efforts.

“Will you go calm that little beast down!” Little My snarled at him, pressing her free paw against her ear.

“Right, yes, I –“ Pappa looked around for Mamma, before belatedly realising he was entirely by himself on this one.

“Right!”

He rushed upstairs.

****

The Stork Prince’s wails weren’t quite so ear-piercing from inside his study, with the door closed. And a book-case in front of it.

“Right then,” Pappa said, bouncing the still wailing calf in his arms and trying to remember what one was supposed to do with a baby. It had been a very long time since he’d had to deal with one, after all.

What had he done to soothe Moomintroll?

Well, not a great deal, at the time. Mamma had done most of it. He’d mostly played with him when he was calm. He’d told him stories to help him go to sleep? Well…after Mamma had managed to get him settled and dozing anyway.

Oh dear, had he been any use at all? He must have dealt with little Moomintroll by himself at some point, but all he could remember when he was a little older and a little chattier and a little easier.

Still, perhaps the same techniques would work.

“Right, I know what will soothe you,” he said, sitting down at his desk and trying to awkwardly angle the calf onto his knee. The creature was so small it made him nervous.

Surely his own Moomintroll had never been so absurdly tiny? He simply couldn’t imagine it.

He found the notebook he was looking for, looking entreatingly at the still wailing calf in his lap.

“How about my latest memoir draft?” he asked (sounding desperate even to himself), “This chapter is very good, about my initial meeting with the tee-rocks of the far forest, and – and – oh dear, can you even hear me? Your ears don’t even work yet, do they?”

The little calf’s ears were still fully folded on themselves – they would hardly hear a peep until they unfurled a little. Their eyes wouldn’t open for a few days yet either, so funny faces were no help either.

He stood again, pacing in circles, first carrying the calf low and then at his chest and finally at his shoulder, patting it on the back.

“There, there? There, there?”

That probably wasn’t meant to come out as a question, was it?

The calf had grown a little quieter – if only from exhaustion - but was still burbling and hiccupping unhappily. It sounded as though they were only gearing up for the next round of crying.

Ears ringing, Pappa listened out for the Stork Prince. At the very least, it sounded like she’d calmed down.

Behind, there was the rattle of the window opening. He jumped and turned, finding Little My crawling in.

“By the Groke’s teeth, I thought that big baby would never shut up,” Little My said. She brought a repulsive smell with he.

“It hasn’t, really,” Pappa said miserably, the calf still sobbing and tugging on his fur painfully (moomin calves weren’t supposed to have _claws_ yet).

“I wasn’t talking about that thing,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m talking about that big feathery disaster down there.”

“Oh. Yes. Did you get her to leave?”

Little My tutted.

“No. I even gave her a good bite, but she just said it was all she deserved. Sounds like she’s too frightened to go home and see her mother,” she said with a condescending snort. “So I quietened her down another way.”

She chuckled darkly enough to herself that Pappa had to stare for a moment.

“You didn’t…kill her, did you?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “I did give her some of your whiskey, though.”

“Well…I suppose if it calms her down,” Pappa said uncertainly. It was a shame to see good whiskey go on something sad rather than something fun, but he wasn’t one to snatch a drink from someone who needed it. The calf had recovered enough to start wailing at full-volume again, and no amount of bouncing or cooing could soothe them.

“I think it’s hungry,” Little My said, making a face.

“Well, _I_ certainly can’t make any milk for them,” Pappa said, and then looked at My uncertainly. “Can –“

“Nope. Don’t even think it, bub,” she said, and then pulled something out of her pocket. A ball of pink mulchy goo. “Try this.”

She put the goo in Pappa’s paw, where it oozed between his fingers. He stared at it. The smell wafting off it made him feel a bit faint. While he supposed that solved the mystery of Little My’s foul stench, it raised even more questions.

“What –“

“Just trust me.”

Supposing that Little My had seen enough babies in her time to at least have some inkling what to do, Pappa gently offered the goo to the calf. They paused their sobs, sniffing the air, and then tilted their head back. Somewhere between fascinated and horrified, Pappa gently tilted a tiny bit of the goo into their mouth. They swallowed the lot, slowly. Finally satisfied, they then tilted their head against Pappa’s chest and felt asleep.

“Alright, that’s one mystery out the way, then,” Little My said, smirking in a way that Pappa didn’t quite like. “The little monster takes after Snufkin.”

“What do you mean?”

“It needs chewed fish guts, not milk.”

“Ghk.”

“Oh don’t tell me you’re going to throw up, you big baby.”

“I may.”

“Put the kid down before you do.”

“Good idea.”

And Pappa did just that.

****

Having thoroughly ruined his favourite wastepaper basket, Pappa finally unblocked the door and headed back downstairs, the little calf sleeping quite peacefully in his arms. They were quite a sweet little thing, really. When they weren’t making a horrible racket or eating partially digested fish guts.

The Stork Prince was lying with their body across the sofa, her legs propped up on Mamma’s chair, and her head resting on Pappa’s chair. A bottle of whiskey lay half-drunk in her wing. She lifted her head when Pappa entered, hiccupping in a wave that jiggled her considerable length of her neck.

“Oh, theeeere’s the unlucky grandfather!” she crowed.

“Now, now, there’s no need to be so distraught,” Pappa said soothingly, partially because he didn’t want her to make the calf cry again. “I’m sure your mother will understand.”

“Ooh, she will, that’s the worst part! She’ll not have expected anything different from me! She won’t have expected anything at all!” the Stork Prince said, gesturing with one wing and dripping whiskey in every direction. “That’s why I’m just going to stay right here!”

“Good grief, you have to go home some time,” Little My said. “We’re not babysitting you. We already have an extra mouth to feed.”

The Stork Prince let out a loud, shrill ‘HAH!’ and took another glug of whiskey.

“Everyone was all ‘oh Lanky-Limbs, that’s a mad idea, you can’t just turn everything on its head like that!’ and Mum was like, and -and she said this while she was already doin’ something else,” she said, and put on a falsetto that Pappa could only assume was meant to be her mother: “‘Well, go try it at Moominvalley, dear. Nice and quiet there, can’t get into too much trouble.’ Hah!”

“Well, that was nice of her,” Pappa said encouragingly. The Stork Prince laughed.

“Well, it would have been, _if she’d been listening._ I don’t think she even knows what she agreed to. It’s always chaos up there, y’know! Chaos! And she’s always busy. I’ve got a lot of older brothers and sisters,” she said, and then leaned back against the couch, sighing as though all the fight had went out of her at once. “You know. I bet Mum hasn’t even noticed I’ve left.”

Little My pursed her lips.

“Hm. Well, she definitely won’t if you never go back,” she said, tone a little softer than before. “Besides, are you just going to sit in the mess you made forever?”

“Oh, but I was so sure it would work,” she moaned. “I only wanted to help. The system we have now is – is, it’s really unfair.”

“Unfair?” Pappa asked uncertainly. He’d never really questioned it before. Married couples got babies from storks now and then, unless they wrote letters in the spring. It seemed a good enough way to go about things to him.

“Well, yes!” the Stork Prince said, suddenly much more animated. “Mum still thinks everyone grows up and gets married and then gets a baby but that’s not how anything works! There’s people who aren’t married or can’t get married and then there’s cases with two ladies or two men or even where there’s only one or more than two, and they’re all left out! It wasn’t fair! Especially when we were taking babies to so many families that weren’t very nice people at all. Or didn’t even want them! So I just – I wanted to make it work better.”

Pappa considered this. He’d never really thought about it, but he supposed she had a point. From that perspective, it really wasn’t very fair. And perhaps if the system worked a little better, he himself would never have ended up in a foundling house.

“I just don’t understand,” the Stork Prince said with a sigh. “It worked in _all_ the simulations I ran.”

“I see. So what’s this – ah, simulation thing?” Pappa asked, and then glanced at My. “Of course, _I_ understand it perfectly, but Little My might not, you know.”

Little My rolled her eyes.

“Ah, it’s a wonderfully clever method of testing things. What we do is give our computers all the things we currently know, and then we ask them what would happen if we did this or that,” the Stork Prince said, brightening up at the thought of her beloved ‘computers’. “I ran over _one thousand_ simualtions with my data, and every time the parents were. Well, they were home, they were very happy, and they told me what a wonderful success the whole project was.”

“Ah, so. Er, you used what you think is already happening to predict what _will_ happen, and then what you think will happen happened?” Pappa said.

“That’s right!” the Stork Prince said cheerfully.

There seemed to be a gap in the logic there, but Pappa wasn’t quite sure what.

“It just doesn’t make _sense_,” the Stork Prince moaned. “From all the data I had, this seemed like a great preliminary test. And you all seemed like such a nice family…numerically speaking.”

“Well, people are…they’re a little more complicated than numbers,” Pappa said. He wished again Mamma was here. He would always be too embarrassed to admit it aloud, but as remarkable a moomin as he was, Mamma was far more so. She would know how to deal with all this without getting flustered or embarrassed.

“It’s ridiculous!” the Stork Prince continued, not even seeming to hear Pappa at all. “The stats I had showed they’d been in a relationship for a good long while, and yet you two don’t even know!”

“Well, we may be wrong,” Pappa said, glancing at Little My, who looked just as confused as he felt. “We’re just not sure.”

“And hey, might be that _they_ don’t know either.”

“That doesn’t make sense at all!” the Stork Prince interrupted, throwing up her wings. “How can you not know! Nobody’s _that_ stupid!”

“Wow,” Little My said, shaking her head. “You really don’t come to Moominvalley often, huh?”

“Of course not,” the Stork Prince huffed, trying to drink more whiskey and mostly succeeding on dripping a lot on the couch. “Why would I?”

“Yeah, why would you come somewhere you’re trying to change?” Little My jeered. “That’d be a _total_ waste of time.”

“Exactly!” she said, and then lay limp. She sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, my head hurts. I think I’m just going to sleep here, if that’s alright by you.”

Before either of them could say anything, she closed her eyes and began to snore with such speed that Pappa briefly wondered if she was only pretending. Yet he supposed nobody would _pretend_ to drool in their sleep.

Little My stared at her, distaste evidence.

“We _need_ to get her out of here become Mamma comes back,” she said, glancing up at him. “You know as well as I do that if Mamma comes back, this feathery imbecile will just end up moving right in with us.”

“Isn’t that what you did?” Pappa asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t mean I want anyone else to do that to me!” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I didn’t move here to start_ another_ overcrowded house!”

“I suppose she is a little big for it to be comfortable,” Pappa said anxiously. He may well already have to build a new nursery. He didn’t want to have to build an aviary on top of that.

As though stirred by Pappa’s thoughts, the little calf in his arms began to squirm and cry again.

“Oh, what is wrong with it now?” Little My said.

Pappa lifted the calf up. He felt a definite increase to their weight, as well as a new and very, very unwelcome smell. If the fish guts smelled bad _before_, well.

“Oh, _nasty_,” Little My said, with no small amount of relish, smiling in a way that showed off her pointy teeth. “Expect you’re out of practice with this as well, are you?”

It was Pappa’s turn to smirk at her.

“This was my specialty, actually. A little known fact about Mamma is that she cannot manage this sort of thing at all.”

“Really?” Little My said, clearly surprised. “Huh. l I suppose we need to check what’s under that nappy anyway. I’m sick of calling it ‘it’.”

“Ah, well, you can’t really tell with moomin calves right away,” he said, laying the still wailing calf on their back on the kitchen counter.

“You can with most mumrik kits,” she replied, and then added after a second’s thought: “What’s between their legs anyway. For what’s in their head, you gotta wait for ‘em to start talking.”

Pappa nodded. Well, he supposed the more they knew about the little calf the better. Brow furrowed, Pappa undid the pin holding together the calf’s nappy, trying not to breathe through his nose too much. Trying to be as gentle as possible, he cleaned the little creature off.

The baby clean and, er, well, _visible,_ they both stared at…well, whatever that was.

“Well,” Pappa said finally, “I’m none the wiser. Are you?”

“Nope,” Little My said.

“Ah well. I suppose we’ll just have to wait to find out,” Pappa said briskly, beginning to fold up a tea-towel to replace the nappy. The calf was completely calm now, burbling happily and twitching their little legs. He pinned the nappy back into place and scooped them up.

He hadn’t noticed before, but the little creature had the same funny bend to their tail that he did.

Oh, strike him pink, this really was his grandchild, wasn’t it?

“Oh don’t _start_,” Little My groaned.

“Start what?” he asked, startled out of his thoughts.

“With the goo-goo eyes,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You shouldn’t get attached, you know.”

“Hah! Don’t be silly. I’m a man. We don’t get attached to little children as easily as you womenfolk,” Pappa said, bouncing the calf in his arms. Their eyes wouldn’t open for a while – and when they did they would be pink – but he wondered what colour they would eventually turn. They would look rather sweet with Moomintroll’s eyes, but Mamma’s green would be just _darling_ against the patches of auburn fur.

“Riiiight,” Little My said, folding her arms. “I’m just saying, what are you going to do if those two idiots don’t want it? You might have to hand it over to someone else.”

“They’re not going to the foundling house,” he said firmly.

“I didn’t say that. I just meant maybe you’ll have to hand it over to some other family,” she said, shrugging. “Mother does that now and then, you know, when she doesn’t fancy another one.”

Pappa squirmed, the thought uncomfortable despite how sensible it was.

“Well, perhaps Mamma and I can raise them!” he said brightly. “We’ll just tell everyone we had another calf, now Moomintroll’s fully grown. Ha! Yes, that will do nicely.”

“Oh yeah, it _really_ looks like a pure moomin baby,” Little My said, prodding the calf’s pointy nose. “Won’t start any rumours at all.”

Pappa glanced down, making a face. Well…yes, he supposed anyone with sense would think they looked like Snufkin. That would raise a lot of difficult questions. There was no need for Little My to act as though all his ideas were so stupid, though. He did not much appreciate being made to feel useless.

“We could say we adopted them!” Pappa said. “In fact, perhaps we should tell the boys that anyway. It would avoid a lot of, ah, awkward conversations.”

Little My made a gargling noise.

“Urgh! You _can’t_ avoid talking to them about it forever,” she said, exasperated. Something about her condescending tone pricked at him. It was bad enough he clearly knew so little about his son’s life, he didn’t need her acting smart about it.

“Oh, don’t try to act so clever,” Pappa snapped. “You are avoiding the Mymble just as badly, and you know it!”

Little My looked stunned for a second, but she recovered quickly, expression becoming twice as fierce as before.

“Well at least _I _can be by myself for longer than five minutes!” she said, hopping off the counter.

“I treasure my time alone, as it happens.”

“Sure you do. When your wife is there to make your tea for you,” she said, cackling nastily.

“Untrue. I’d like to be alone now,” he said. “In fact, I’d quite like if you stopped hanging around like a bad smell!”

Little My stared at him, and for a second Pappa swore she looked quite hurt.

“I’m going to bed,” she spat. “Try not to kill the kid without Mamma around to babysit you.”

She slammed the door, loud enough to make the calf jump and start crying again in his arms. Pappa hushed it, heading to his room.

Not able to be by himself! Hah! As if she could imagine the loneliness of his childhood, the long weeks at sea by himself! Well. Alright, the day or two at sea by himself. And his time with the hattifatteners! That had been as good as being alone!

He laid the calf on Mamma’s side of the bed, where they curled up and fell back to sleep. Mamma’s smell must put them at ease, as was the case with most little creatures. Changing into his pyjamas, Pappa climbed into bed next to the little beast.

Yes, a good night’s rest was in order. Everything would make more sense in the morning!

****

Pappa got no sleep whatsoever.

The calf had been entirely silent throughout the night, which should have put him at ease, but then he suddenly remembered how little ones could stop breathing, or turn over and suffocate themselves, or get tangled in sheets and choke themselves. Suddenly, he was very awake and determined to do nothing but stare at the little one all night.

How had he managed this the first time? Had he simply been younger and more clueless about how little creature could perish? Or had he been this wracked with nerves even when Moomintroll was small, and had simply forgotten all about it?

Perhaps it was different with grandchildren entirely. He had never really put much thought to it. After all, he hadn’t even had parents, never mind grandparents.

Downstairs, the Stork Prince was still asleep sprawled across all the living room furniture, snoring and dripping a large puddle of drool onto the rug. The bottle of whiskey had been thoroughly decimated, and more than one piece of furniture had been tipped over, more than one cup and glass smashed.

Pappa muttered a curse word to himself, before remembering the calf in his arms. He hoped they hadn’t heard that – Snufkin would be _furious._

Well, quite possibly Snufkin would be furious with the situation generally. Snufkin rarely lost his temper, but when he did it was always terrible. And this may well make him feel cornered enough to do so.

And then Moomintroll would cry, and both of them would panic horribly, and oh dear oh dear. Regardless of what Little My thought, it would likely be simpler for everyone involved if Pappa simply lied about where this little child came from.

Pappa stared at the kitchen counter – suddenly much more of a mess than it had been the previous morning. He blinked at it, a bit surprised. Normally things tidied themselves up.

…Or, he realised, Mamma tidied them up. And he was simply too self-absorbed to notice.

Coffee, he thought. Time to make coffee.

Which, er. Well, where was all the equipment? The beans and the grinder and the pot and suchlike? Normally Mamma had made the coffee by the time he got up on the morning. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this by himself.

Putting the calf back in the basket, Pappa started opening all the cupboards and drawers, digging through to try and get everything he needed. Yet the second he had the pot on the boil, the calf began to cry.

“Oh no. Hungry again?” Pappa said, wondering with more than a little worry if the calf needed midnight feeds the same way a little moomin would. If that was the case, he’d already half-starved the poor thing.

The Stork Prince rolled over, pressing her wings over her head.

“Make it be quiet, please,” she complained. “My head is _thumping_.”

“Well, that tends to happen when one drinks an entire bottle of whisky,” Pappa said, in no mood to humour the stork this morning. He didn’t think he had any fish in the ice box. And he certainly couldn’t go fishing with the little one making such a racket. They would scare all the fish clear away.

“And I may need to drink a bottle more if the little beast keeps that up,” she said, folding herself into her wings as far as she could. Before Pappa could reply, there was the rattle of the kitchen window opening, and Little My clambered in on all fours, a large fish held in her mouth, tail still flapping. She spat it onto the kitchen floor and gave Pappa a withering look.

Pappa opened his mouth to thank her, but she darted back out of the window, leaving the fish flipping about on the floor.

Ah, he supposed he wasn’t quite forgiven yet. He thought it ridiculous to be angry at someone for stating the plain and simple truth. It was quite beyond him _why_ Little My was avoiding her mother so badly, but it was clear enough she was.

He grabbed the fish off the floor, unsheathing his claws to kill it. He mostly succeeded in splattering blood everywhere, and it took a few more swipes before it stopped moving around.

“Right, okay, now we just need to get the important bits and mash them up!” he said to himself, over the sound of the calf wailing and the Stork Prince shouting (‘What is that smell! How is there so much blood! What have you done!’). Between all that, Pappa found the sound of his own voice wasn’t as comforting as usual.

Behind him, the pot began to overboil, filling the kitchen with the smell of burning coffee.

****

He finally got the calf fed (it turned out mashing it with a fork simply wasn’t the same – the guts needed to be _chewed_. It was very unpleasant), the coffee made (the taste was awful, but at this point he just needed the caffeine), and had sliced bread for both his and the Stork Prince’s breakfast. At that point, he was thoroughly exhausted and ready to go back to bed again. The Stork Prince already had – she’d simply turned back over on the sofa, pulling one of Mamma’s blankets over her. Not quite sure what to do with her yet, Pappa left her to it.

The first order of business, he thought, was to find Little My. As much as he hated to admit it, he could not manage the house, the calf, and the stork alone. As bratty and difficult as Little My was, she was good company in her own way. And, in all honesty, she was much cleverer than him. He could use her sharp little mind.

Digging around his and Mamma’s bedroom, he managed to find the old sling Mamma used to carry Moomintroll in. The calf was a little small for it, and Pappa was a little big, but with a lot of fidgeting and fiddling, he managed to get it to work.

It was nice to be out of Moominhouse, after the past day. The air was fresh and the sky was clear, and after a while of walking Pappa’s mood improved considerably. Even the little calf seemed to enjoy it – as much as they could enjoy anything, with their folded ears and closed eyes.

Thankfully, he didn’t run into any of the neighbours. Mrs Fillyjonk would surely ask a lot of questions and call everyone she knew with the gossip as soon as she got home. Worse still, the hemulens would sniff and ask if he had the right _paperwork_ for that little one, and that would get into a big mess.

Little My’s scratchy footprints led him down to the river, where they ended at the shore. He looked out across the shimmering water, expecting to see a little orange ponytail poking up, not unlike a shark fin in the sea. He saw nothing of the like.

“Little My!” he called, paws cupped around his mouth. “Little My! Come on out!”

“Boo!”

Pappa squawked and almost fell forward, only stopped because Little My seized his tail and hauled him back towards the shore. They fell back, Little My rolling out of the way of Pappa, Pappa cupping his arms around the calf to cushion the fall. Little My stood over him, scowling.

“Yeesh, you should have warned me you had the sprog with you!” she shouted at him.

“I hardly could,” he said, sitting up carefully. His eyes were still watering from having his tail pulled so hard, and he took it into his paws, smoothing his fur down. Nobody had pulled on his tail since he’d been a little foundling himself, and he hadn’t missed it.

Little My only tutted, looking quite unapologetic. She crouched by the riverside, watching out for fish.

“What do you want anyway? Thought you would be enjoying your _alone_ time,” she spat.

“I don’t think it’s the right situation for alone time, don’t you?” he said, sitting down. The calf was awake and wiggling around in the sling. He took them out and sat them on his lap. It looked as though their eyes were beginning to open, just a peep.

Little My only grunted. Before Pappa could say anything else, she dove into the water. She disappeared under the waves for a moment, and then remerged fast as a dart, dragging another fish along with her. Without even as much as a glance at Pappa, she tucked into her breakfast, tail lashing in the air.

Pappa was certain he would never get the stink of fish out of his fur, at this rate. It was bad enough Moomintroll went around smelling like that, most of the time. The entire family didn’t need to stink.

“Sooooo…”

Oh, he was bad at this. And Little My seemed to determine not to offer him an inch of help. Usually, when he made a big mess of things, Mamma or Moomintroll would basically set up his apology for him.

His family did do a lot of the work for him, really. It probably wasn’t very fair of him.

He cleared his throat and took his hat off.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” he said.

“Do you now?” she asked, licking her paws clean, still not looking at him.

“Yes, well – in part. You _are_ avoiding the Mymble, for one reason or another.”

Little My gave him a look that would have killed a weaker man. Pappa only shifted away and flicked his tail safely behind him.

“What’s that all about anyway?” he said, because he’d never had a very good sense of self-preservation (and he had the feeling he was fairly safe while the calf was on his lap). “She’s your mother, you know!”

“She’s a lot of people’s mothers,” Little My said darkly, snapping a fishbone between her paws.

“I’m sure she misses you, in her own way.”

“Really? So you’ve been getting letters, asking after me?” she asked, arcing an eyebrow up at him. Pappa fidgeted.

“Er. No,” he said and then quickly added, “but you have scared away the mailman, always rushing at him the second he comes up the garden path…”

“Well, why do you think that is?” she snapped, hurling the rest of the fish’s skeleton back in the water. Pappa grimaced.

“Oh.”

“Hmph. Well it’s not like _I _care, anyway. I don’t care about anyone.”

That was such a silly and obvious lie that Pappa could only laugh.

“We all know that’s not true.”

Little My tutted.

“You seem to care an awful lot about this little one,” he continued, playing with the calf’s paws. “Even though they only turned up yesterday.”

“I don’t _care_. I just don’t want Mamma to come home and you’ve starved a baby to death,” she said folding her arms and scowling down at the grass. Despite her stubborn tone and angry expression, she really did seem quite upset.

If it were Moomintroll, Pappa would put an arm around him, but Little My didn’t go for that touchy-feely sort of thing. Neither did he, truth be told. Another thing that made his son quite difficult to understand.

He settled for just sitting with her in companionable silence. As odd as it was to say about someone so noisy, Little My seemed to just want some quiet company now and then.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“I apologise for what I said, anyway. It was a beastly thing to say. You are not a bad smell, and we all like having you as part of the family,” he said quietly.

She grunted, avoiding his eye.

“S’fine.”

She huffed and sat a little closer, letting her shoulder bump against his arm. He supposed that was her way of saying he was forgiven.

“You know. She tries her best, your mother,” he said eventually.

Little My snorted.

“Well alright, perhaps not,” he amended, “but she doesn’t _mean_ badly.”

“It doesn’t matter if someone doesn’t _mean_ badly. They can still_ do_ badly,” she said, quick enough Pappa suspected she’d been thinking about it a long while.

“I suppose you’re right. Well, you don’t have to go back to her if you don’t want to,” he said finally. “It may be worth writing her a letter though.”

“A letter! Hah!” she barked. “Why should I?”

“Because you feel badly, and writing about it might make you feel better,” he said, and puffed up his chest. “You remember the story about when I ran away from the foundling house, don’t you?”

She scoffed.

“Of course I do. You tell that old yarn every chance you get.”

“Well, you’ll remember I wrote the foundling house lady a letter myself. I don’t know if it pricked her conscience or changed her ways. But it made me feel better! And made it much easier to put all that behind me,” he said. “Perhaps it would do the same for you.”

“…Maybe,” she said quietly. “It’s not like it’s all bad. Lots of my brothers and sister are plenty happy there. I just wasn’t.”

“Well,” he said after a long moment of silence. “I hope you’re happier here.”

She punched him in the arm.

“Hmph! Well that’s all very well and good, but we have a much bigger problem on our hands than my mother,” she said, standing and looking at the calf in Pappa’s lap. “Or a much littler problem, I guess.”

Pappa huffed, bundling the calf back into their sling.

“I suppose so. Goodness knows how the lads are going to respond when they get back.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll take it really well,” Little My drawled.

“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” he said. “Let’s try giving them a little more credit than that.”

Yes, Snufkin was prone to avoidance and Moomintroll to melodrama, but they _were_ both grown-ups now. Perhaps the best tactic would be to treat them like it.

That said, Pappa wasn’t sure if he hoped they _were_ in some kind of relationship or not. If they were, it would at the very least make some things simpler. Yet on the other hand, that meant that Moomintrol had kept it from him. And that made him feel very sad indeed.

Yet if it turned out they’d just been _acting_ so smitten they had managed to trick the stork’s algo-whatever…

That would just be an embarrassing conversation all around.

“We can’t do anything about those two idiots until they get back. So why don’t we just try to deal with the feathery idiot first?” Little My said, shaking the water off her dress and standing up straight. “I’m not having some bawling beanpole lodging in my living room forever.”

“Capital idea, Little My.”

****

The Stork Prince had gone back to wailing and crying when they returned.

“All those years in college! All those tuition fees!” she shouted. “Everyone told me, Lanky-Limbs, why bother with that computer science degree, you’ve got the family business! Would I listen? No! Of course not! My brother was right! Lanky-Limbs never listens!”

“Well, at least the happy fathers aren’t back yet,” Little My said with a sigh. Pappa quite agreed – he really didn’t want them to get back until things were a little calm. Or, ideally, after Mamma had come home.

The living room was a mess of feathers and upturned furniture, the entire room stinking of whiskey. Good Groke, Pappa realised, Mamma was due home _tomorrow morning_! He couldn’t allow her to come home from a long and tiring weekend to this mess.

That thought, more than anything else, spurred him into action.

“Right! That’s quite enough of this self-pity!” he shouted up at the Stork Prince, startling her. He strode forward, the imposing figure he was trying to cut rather undermined by the baby strapped to his chest and the fact he barely came up her knees, but he did his best. She blinked at him, and then tilted her head back, letting out another wail.

“Oh, but it’s all hopeless –“

“Now you listen to me, young lady. You tried something new and it didn’t work the first time round. That is _completely_ normal. Do you know how many drafts I have to write for my memoirs?” he said, scowling. “But if you just mope around and cry like this every time something goes wrong, you will never get it right!”

“And it’s annoying,” Little My piped up helpfully.

The Stork Prince sniffed, looking wretchedly sad. Pappa deflated a little. Perhaps the tough love angle alone wasn’t enough.

“And – ah, for what it’s worth. I think what you were trying to do was good,” Pappa said, nodding up at her. “It’s a very noble thing, trying to fix something that’s unfair. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think it’s an excellent idea. It just perhaps needs fine-tuning.”

“But – but…you’re such a nice family, and I ruuiiii – OW.”

Little My bit her leg.

“Don’t be a baby,” she said, dropping down from the Stork Prince’s leg. “We’re tough enough to deal with it.”

“Really? I haven’t ruined everything for all of you?”

“You would have do something much worse than this to reduce us to wrack and ruin,” Pappa said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s not as though we’ve never taken in a stray before.”

He nudged Little My, smirking at her. She rolled her eyes.

“_But_, if you want to apologise,” Pappa said. “Try something practical. For starters, you can help us clean up the living room.”

The Stork Prince stared at him, looking as though she had never received such an attentive telling off in her life.

“And if you don’t, Little My will probably bite you again,” Pappa added.

With that, the Stork Prince stood up and started straightening out the pillows.

****

None of them particularly knew how to clean whiskey out of a rug, but Pappa consulted Granny’s book and whipped up a remedy that – while not a patch on Mamma’s work – did the job well enough. The shattered teacups were swept up, the teapot cleaned, the feathers vacuumed, and the floors cleaned.

It took a lot doing. Pappa was used to seeing Mamma whip around the room and clean everything up lickety-split. Yet it was not as easy as she made it look. There was always some unseen mess lurking somewhere or another, another thing that needed to be scrubbed or brushed or dusted. And mess did not lift away as easily as she made it look.

It was, in fact, very hard work. And the Stork Prince wasn’t faring much better.

Eventually, however, they managed to make a dent in it. While not sparkling clean, the living room did look a little better by lunchtime. Deciding to break for food, Little My scampered off to go catch the calf’s lunch, and Pappa put together some (admittedly lop-sided) sandwiches for the rest of them.

The kitchen was still a big awful mess, but they could get a start on that in the afternoon.

“M’back!” Little My said through a mouthful of fish.

“Wonderful, if you could chew it up? My teeth aren’t quite right for the job,” Pappa said.

“Alright, but I draw the line at barfing in the little monster’s mouth.”

“Reasonable enough.”

They probably needed to invest in a bottle. Or a funnel, perhaps.

The Stork Prince, having finished sorting the recycling, came over and sat down at the coffee table with them.

“You know, it’s funny,” she said, smiling much more naturally than before, “but I actually feel much better now.”

“Sometimes it’s better to get up and do something,” Pappa said, shrugging. “Even cleaning. Perhaps even _especially_ cleaning.”

“It’s the first time I’ve ever cleaned, you know,” the Stork Prince said, and Pappa decided it would probably be unkind to say that much was obvious. “Back home, we always had maids! Why, I barely even knew that rubbish needed to be picked up. I thought it just sort of went away naturally.”

Pappa nodded - in all honesty, he’d tricked himself into thinking much the same. Mamma did so much without him noticing. He resolved to show a little more gratitude in future.

“So are you going home?” Little My asked through a mouthful of her egg salad sandwich. The Stork Prince paused, sighing.

“I suppose I have to, at some point,” she said, resting her cheek on her wing. “I just don’t understand where I went so wrong. I read a lot of excellent papers and books, all very carefully and checked my code and I used only the best data we had.”

Little My interrupted her with a groan.

“You are dim, you know that?” she said, tutting.

“How dare you! I was always the cleverest in every class I was in at school,” the Stork Prince protested, feathers fluffing up with indignation.

“Clearly you didn’t have a class on common sense!” Little My snapped. “Really, you never thought to come down here and actually _ask_ people? Or _talk _to them?”

The Stork Prince stared at Little My as though she were a raving lunatic.

“Ask them? Oh, but that takes up too much time,” she said thoughtfully. “We used to have people just write in letters of request, but do you know how slow that is? And there’s all these cases of husbands forging their wives’ signatures, mothers writing letters on behalf of their sons…it simply isn’t feasible.”

“Well you can’t help a group of people without asking them what they think about it!” Little My protested. “Otherwise you’re just being nosy and bossy.”

“Yes, you’d never be either of those things,” Pappa said dryly. Little My stuck her tongue out at him.

“Well…” the Stork Prince said. “I suppose I _could_ try to include qualitative data in the model…that may necessitate an entirely new project, and I don’t know if Mum will give me the funding, but it would be useful to have more idea of people’s opinions…I definitely need to objectively quantify relationship status somehow or another, the implicit measures are _clearly_ misleading, and - oh, paper mail isn’t that reliable either…”

She trailed off, mumbling to herself and picking apart her sandwich with her wings.

“Well, you think about it,” Pappa said, because he didn’t have the least idea what she was talking about. It sounded as though she was making a bit progress though, so that was good.

“Honestly! People are so complicated. I wish they were as clean and lovely as numbers,” the Stork Prince said finally, setting down her empty plate.

“No chance of that happening, pal,” Little My said, kicking back to rest her feet on the coffee table. “And the world would be far too dull if it did.”

The Stork Prince tutted at that, clearly unconvinced.

“I _suppose_,” she said, in the tone of one who did not suppose at all, but knew it was the right thing to say. Suddenly, she brightened up, and fished her satchel out from behind the sofa. “Oh, yes! We still have the paperwork to do!”

“Must we?” Moominpappa groaned.

“Of course!” she said, laying out a tremendous pile of papers and unzipping a very neatly organised pencil case. “Now, if you’re looking to make a straight-forward rejection, _Rejection Form 84c: Extended Family, Paternal Grandfather _is the one to go for, but – ah, are the parents minors? I don’t suspect as much, but if so we will need _Rejection Form 53a: Parent/Guardian on Behalf of Teen Parent _as well as _Inappropriate Delivery Form 33: You Can’t Sue Us For This_ – “

“No, no, no, stop,” Pappa interrupted. “I think I would like to – er, well, we can’t make a final decision until the boys come home, really.”

“Ah, when will that be?”

Pappa looked at Little My. She shrugged.

“Well…how about we send a note their way? Do you know where they’ve ended up?”

Pappa and My looked at one another again.

“Beats me,” Little My said.

“They don’t really mention where they’re going when they sneak off together like this,” Pappa admitted. Which probably should have made him wonder if something was going on, in all honesty.

“By my feathers!” the Stork Prince burst out. “Are they always so secretive?”

Pappa and Little My shrugged again.

“I suppose I’ll have to stay until they get back –“

“_No_!” My and Pappa exclaimed at once.

“I mean, you’re clearly very busy,” Pappa said.

“And don’t you have your…algo-whatever to work on,” Little My said, tail lashing back and forth. “It won’t fix itself.”

“Listen, didn’t you have, ah, something about taking the child temporarily, until the, er, parents -” (Pappa still found that a strange word to apply to Moomintroll and Snufkin, of all people.) “- get back and can tell you what’s what?”

The Stork Prince thought about this, tapping one of her large feet.

“Yes, I suppose that would be fine enough,” she said finally. “We can fill in this now, and then I can come back later and get everything finalised. Although…ah…”

“Yes?”

“Well, perhaps you’d be willing to do me a favour,” she said, and then ducked her head down. “Oh, that is a silly thing to ask, when I have been such a menace!”

“Now, now, you didn’t mean badly,” Pappa said gently. “What would you ask us to do?”

“Um,” she said, and took a long drink of juice (heedless of the fact it was mostly ice in the glass at this point). “Well, if you would write down what you said earlier, about…um, my idea being good, and all that. It’s really only me who cares about this, you see. Everyone else thinks I’m just being silly.”

Her voice was getting quieter and quieter, and she practically folded in on herself.

“But perhaps if you write a nice note, I can show Mum and everyone and prove that it’s not just me who thinks things need to change,” she said finally. “I don’t know, that’s probably –“

“Of course I will!” Pappa interrupted, patting his chest. “You just leave that to me. I happen to be a _prolific_ writer. Let me compose a letter, and I will have all the storks up there clamouring to be part of your project.”

“Really?” she said, brightening up instantly. He nodded, smiling at her, and selected a nice-looking pen from her selection.

“I’d be happy to. Now let’s get this paperwork out of the way. I’d like to get the kitchen scrubbed down before supper,” he said, shifting the calf from his lap into their basket. The Stork Prince hummed cheerfully, taking out a wad of pale yellow paper.

“This! You’ll be pleased to know we’ve really streamlined this service recently,” she said. “This only takes fifty minutes now.”

“Oh…good…”

“…Well, that’s the mean. The median’s closer to 160 minutes.”

“…Little My?”

Little My sighed, getting to her feet.

“I’ll put the coffee on.”

****

It was, at the very least, 200 minutes until all the paperwork was signed, dated, every necessary checkbox ticked and every necessary form of identification presented (Pappa tried not to think about how this would go if Snufkin had to do it). They drank a cup of coffee, and then another one. In between, they took a long break so Pappa could stretch his writing hand and changed the calf’s nappy.

If he were completely honest, Pappa wasn’t very sure he was making the right choice. It may be easier if he just sent the stork away to the nearest foundling house. Yet he just couldn’t bear to. And he had the odd sense that Little My wouldn’t have let him anyway.

“Alright, very good, very good,” the Stork Prince said, sounding as though the past three hours had been the most fun she’d ever had in her life. Pappa wished he could say the same – he would be seeing that tiny font and logo whenever he closed his eyes for weeks.

The Stork Prince checked over the papers, stapled it in the corner, slid that inside a labelled envelope, slid that inside a labelled polly pocket, and then clipped that inside a larger, labelled folder. With an expression of bliss, she bundled all her precious documents away into her satchel.

“Well, this weekend has been eventful,” she said, stooping so she could wiggle her long limbs out of the front door.

“I’ll say,” Little My muttered, balancing the calf on her head. Pappa scooped them up, giving her a scolding look, before returning his attention to the Stork Prince. She was standing tall, looking up at the sky a little thoughtfully.

“That said, I’m still glad I used you as my trial run. There _were_ cases that actually scored a bit higher in total, you know,” she said, and glanced down at them, an odd smile on her beak. “But I had a good feeling about this one.”

“Thought you only saw the numbers?” Little My asked, cynically. The Stork Prince scratched her beak.

“Yes, I did. And I know it’s very unscientific of me to have feelings based on that but…call it intuition,” she said. “Anyway! I’m going home to – ahahahaha, talk to my mother! Which I am _not terrified of_, at all!”

“Now, now, I’m sure it will be – well, it won’t be the end of the world,” Pappa said, because he couldn’t really say it would be _fine_, at least not right away. Perhaps it would take a little while for the world to right itself, but it would not be upside-down forever.

“Right, right. Well, I’ll come back after I’ve sorted everything out at home to finalise everything. I look forward to collecting your letter then too,” she said, and put her hat back on. “Cheerio, Moomin family!”

With that, she took off into the air, long legs stretched out behind her, floating higher until she vanished above the clouds.

“Right, well, let’s get to sorting out that kitchen,” Pappa said, heading back into the house.

“Eeeeeh,” Little My said, perched on top of the sofa. “I’m not really feeling it, bub, sorry.”

His first instinct was to loudly complain that he _certainly_ wasn’t going to clean all that mess _himself_, not after he spent so long filling out boring paperwork.

He reined it in. Despite how she acted, Little My usually had her reasons when she was being difficult. Instead, he just inclined his head, raising an eyebrow.

“In fact,” she said, “I’m gonna nick some of your writing paper. Think I need to write a letter myself.”

In her own weird way, she was asking for permission. Although Pappa couldn’t help but think that it rather didn’t matter whether he gave it or not. That was just how Little My was.

“Go ahead. I’ll get the kitchen cleaned up for Mamma.”

She gave him a sharp-tooth grin and then darted up the stairs on all fours, leaving Pappa with the calf in his arms, a filthy kitchen before him.

“Right then,” he said, putting the calf into their basket and giving the kitchen a stern glare. “Let’s get you – well, not sparkling, but at least _decent_.”

****

By morning, the house only looked a little worse for wear. Considering it previous looked as though a pack of woodies had broken in and thrown a party, Pappa considered this an outright victory. Little My went fishing at dawn, bringing back a few fish and chewing them into food, half-filling an empty jamjar in the fridge. A little grim, perhaps, but convenient in the long-term.

He settled the calf down for their mid-morning nap (and put a nice little ribbon on their tail because, well, Pappa rather wanted them presentable for Mamma), and made himself some coffee. After all that, Pappa sat and tried to, at long last, do some writing.

Yet he couldn’t stop himself pausing to peek out of the window every few minutes. Eventually, he gave up - he was much too excited to see Mamma again to really get much done.

As soon as he heard the door open, his tail perked up and he hurled himself down the stairs as fast as his bad hip would take him.

“Uuuuurrrrrrgh!”

He paused. Snorkmaiden was leaning against Mamma, looking grey all over, and as though she were mere seconds from death.

Mamma looked up and smiled at him all the same.

“Good morning, dear.”

“Good morning,” he replied, smiling back, and then glanced at Snorkmaiden. “Is she alright?”

“You’re _very_ loud, Pappa,” Snorkmaiden snapped.

“A little hung-over, I’m afraid,” Mamma said softly, manoeuvring Snorkmaiden onto the sofa and covering her with a blanket. She leaned over to Pappa and added in a whisper, “She tried to keep up with the Mymble, you see.”

“A dreadful mistake,” Pappa agreed. He had made the same error in his own youth. As had many before him. He smiled again at his wife. She looked a little tired, but lovely all the same. There was some glitter on her snout and a ribbon tied clumsily to one of her ears. It looked as though she’d had fun.

Really, what had he been so worried about?

“Hey!” shouted Little My, sliding down the banister and landing in front of Mamma, an envelope clutched in her paw. “So where’s my mother now?”

“Still on Emma’s boat at the docks, having mimosas,” Mamma said, nodding. “The party isn’t done until she is.”

“Tch. Figures. I’m gonna run down and catch her. Don’t have lunch without me!” Little My replied, and darted out of the door. Mamma watched her go, shaking her head a little fondly and muttering something about the energy of youth.

“I’ve missed you a great deal, my dear,” Pappa said suddenly, prompting Mamma to blush and giggle, clearly surprised.

“That’s very silly of you! I’ve only been away a few nights,” she said.

“Well! I still did!” he replied, a bit embarrassed. Mamma, still laughing, gave him a quick kiss and a nuzzle.

“Naturally, I missed you too,” she said. “There. I suppose we are as silly as each other.”

Quite suddenly, the calf began to wail, making Snorkmaiden bolt awake with a groan and Mamma jump. They both stared at the otherwise innocuous basket on the rug.

“Sounds like someone needs their nappy changed,” Pappa said to himself.

“Er. Darling –“ Mamma began.

“What the hell is that?” Snorkmaiden groaned.

“Ah. Well. I’ve had a rather interesting weekend myself…” he began. They both looked at him, eyes wide.

“I believe a pot of tea is in order,” he said, scooping up the little calf. “But first I’ll deal with this little one.”

****

Moomintroll had forgotten how nice it was to swim in a warm sea. The sea on the shore of Moominvalley was alright to wade in, and there was the odd day or two in the summer you could swim in it pleasantly. Yet being able to dip in and out whenever once fancied was wonderful. And that wasn’t even the best thing about this island.

They hadn’t really intended to find this little island, but once they had they’d gotten so comfortable that what was meant to be a brief fishing trip had somehow turned into a full-blown holiday. Moomintroll couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

He emerged from the surface of the water, looking at where Snufkin was napping on the shore, his hat over his face, the fish they caught earlier being slowly smoked beside him. Behind him, stood their two tents. Two, because Snufkin was stubborn and had insisted upon needing his own space and time alone. Which was all well and good, but usually they just ended up talking late and falling asleep in the same one anyway.

Really, Moomintroll suspected it was so Snufkin had somewhere to storm off to if they had a tiff. He probably found that a bit more endearing than he should.

Fond and exasperated at the same time, he swam back to shore. Snufkin tilted his hat up as he did.

“Did you have a nice swim?” he asked, sitting up to pass Moomintroll a towel.

“Oh, yes! You should go in before the sun goes down,” he said, drying off his fur as best as he could.

“I’m still sore from yesterday, I’m afraid,” Snufkin replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know _why_ we thought diving from those cliffs would be a good idea.”

“It was for a while!” Moomintroll said. “How were we supposed to know the local birds would try _hunting_ you?”

“Well I certainly didn't expect it,” he replied, rubbing at a few scratch marks on his face. They’d gotten out okay - mostly because the locals had ran over to them to help (although they had all been laughing almost too hard to do so).

Smiling a little at the memory, Moomintroll sat down next to Snufkin, slinging his tail around his waist.

“How’s supper coming along?”

“Ah, almost ready, I suspect. We still have some of Mamma’s bread, and the vegetables we foraged the other day,” Snufkin said, smiling and glancing across at him. “Shall we open the palm wine I stole?”

“Sure. Do we have any of those funny pink rice cakes left?” Moomintroll asked. They’d stumbled into some nice old lady’s café the other day. After helping her out with a few chores, she’d spoiled them both completely rotten. Snufkin hummed and checked his bag.

“A couple. I thought you wanted to keep them as souvenirs?”

Moomintroll waved a paw dismissively.

“Eh, she fancied you enough to give us more.”

Snufkin huffed a tiny laugh.

“Don’t start,” he warned, but he was smiling. Moomintroll grinned back at him. Watching Snufkin deal with a woman older than Mamma flirting with him had been the highlight of an already exceptional week.

A week? Well, it felt like a week. In all honesty, he’d been having so much fun he’d entirely lost track.

“Hey Snuf?”

“Hm?”

“How long have we been away?” he asked. Snufkin blinked, pulling a face as though he considered the passage of time quite irrelevant to him.

“Ah, uh, coming up to a week, perhaps?” he said, scratching at his hair. He gave Moomintroll a worried look. “Why? Are you eager to be home?”

“No, not right now.”

“If you are, please don’t restrain yourself on my account.”

“I’m not!” Moomintroll said, laying down and putting his paws behind his head. “Moominvalley’s not going anywhere, after all.”

With a chuckle, Snufkin folded his hat into a pillow and laid down beside him.

“I suppose not,” he said. “Well, let me know when you’d like to head home. We have a fair amount of sailing to do, after all.”

Moomintroll nodded and stared up, quite content to just watch the smoke rising up into the dusk sky.

They’d go home soon enough, but there was no hurry. After all, nothing in Moominvalley ever changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Snufkin, lounging on the beach with a pina colada, probably wearing one of those old-timey men's swimsuits:** Hey should we go back soon?  
**Moomintroll, wearing a pair of sunglasses, not even looking up from his copy of Gossip Now! magazine:** Nah. Nothing ever happens there anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied I wrote more of this dumb concept.
> 
> More minor warnings for vomit and gross bodily functions. Other than that, nothing in particular! We're just having a good time here.

Moomintroll and Snufkin would have probably stayed on that island even longer, both having a great deal of fun exploring it together, enjoying the hot weather and interesting food (as well as being able to spend time together without Little My popping up at every moment). But the police were getting increasingly agitated with Snufkin’s laissez-fair approach to the law, and more than one wanted poster had started popping up around the town centre. After pinching a couple to keep as souvenirs, they decided it was time to leave while the leaving was good.

It had been a fantastic adventure. They’d been having more and more of them together lately. Moreover, in recent years Moomintroll had barely moped and pined when Snufkin set out for winter. Even more incredibly, he could get Snufkin to talk to him properly when he was upset, rather than just bottle it up.

It was as though, at long last, Moomintroll had caught up to him, and they were finally on equal footing.

Sitting on the edge of the boat, sides pressed against one another, they watched the familiar shores of Moominvalley approach over the wave. Neither expected anything exciting to be happening when they got back. It was a hot, lazy sort of summer after all, and it was easing gently into a gentle autumn.

It was surprising then, that they returned to Sniff standing at the edge of the dock, wringing his paws together.

“You two better come to Moominhouse right now!” he shouted, hopping from foot to foot, tail lashing. Sniff had gotten surprisingly tall over the past few years (he towered over Snufkin now, which did not help their relationship in the least). Aside from that, he was very much the same neurotic little brother he’d always been. Moomintroll found it hard to take one of his fusses seriously.

“I’m going to go set up camp,” Snufkin said, as though Sniff were not there.

“No, that’s no good!” Sniff said. “You both need to go up!”

“Come on now, Sniff, what’s the problem?” Moomintroll asked. “If you’ve gotten into trouble again, we can deal with after we've both rested. It's been a long journey back, you know.”

“Oh, it’s – argh! I just can’t explain it,” Sniff said, throwing out his paws. “Best thing is for you to come and see for yourselves.”

“Sounds very serious,” Snufkin said, still amused, but Moomintroll was getting a bit worried. What if Mamma or Snorkmaiden were ill, or Pappa had gotten hurt, or Little My had finally bitten off more she could chew and gotten into some serious trouble?

He gave Snufkin a look and a worried twitch of his ears. Snufkin frowned back, the amused glint in his eyes shutting down.

“Alright. But I’ll be sleeping in my tent tonight,” he said. Sniff huffed.

“Well don’t say that to me! _I’m _not the one that always wants you sleep over!” he said tartly. “Would prefer you didn’t, in all honesty, it’s very awkward! Now come on, we have to get back quickly.”

“Quickly?”

“Haven’t you two been listening!” Sniff said, stomping. “It’s urgent!”

“By my tail, Sniff, why didn’t you say! Come on!”

They all rushed off towards Moominhouse, Sniff squealing ‘We need to hurry, we need to hurry!’, Moomintroll worried and thinking of all of the horrible things that could have happened to his dear family in their absence, and Snufkin just rather bewildered and exhausted by the whole thing.

By the time they reached Moominhouse, Moomintroll had been entirely expecting fire and explosions and smoke and to have to clutch his poor lifeless father’s body in his arms.

Moominhouse simply stood there, looking remarkably the same as ever. Moominmamma, knitting on the veranda, stood up and waved at them upon arrival. Little My, curled up catlike on the windowsill, merely lifted her head up from her arms and blinked at them.

“Oh for – what was so urgent, Sniff?” Moomintroll asked.

“Well you two are slow and I need the bathroom! Excuse me!” he said, and then blustered into the house. “Let me know when you’re all done talking about it!”

“Talking about _what_?” Snufkin said, patience wearing as thin with Sniff as it usually did. Moomintroll shook his head, completely lost.

“Yes, Mamma, what is he on about?”

Mamma stood up, expression serious.

“You better come in,” Mamma said. “We have something to talk about.”

There wasn’t a sentence in the world more terrifying than that. Sensing his nerves, Snufkin put a hand on Moomintroll’s shoulder as they walked in. Inside, Pappa and Snorkmaiden were sitting on the couch, next to an old bassinet. Pappa was rocking it gently with his foot.

Snorkmaiden stood up as they entered, his expression almost as serious as Mamma’s, and she was practically glowering at Snufkin. By the Groke's teeth, what had gotten into everyone?

“Ah!” Pappa blurted out as he spotted them, also jumping to his feet. “Boys, hello! How was your trip? Err, not that you need to tell an old moomin like me all about that! I just hope you had a good time. Support it completely, you know.”

“Mamma?” Moomintroll said, too busy staring at the bassinet to pay much attention to Pappa’s ramblings. “What’s going on?”

Mamma went over to the bassinet, tail flicking in that way it did when she was anxious.

“Well, you see, dears, a Stork came when you two were away –“

“Oh!” Snufkin said, expression brightening. “Congratulations!”

“You and Pappa had another baby?” Moomintroll said. “Why, that’s wonderful news, but I would have liked to have known!”

From the window, Little My cackled.

“Wow, are you two in for a surprise!”

The two of them exchanged a puzzled look.

“Oh dear,” Mamma said. “Er. I think it’s best if you just take a look at the little dear.”

Holding it carefully in her arms, Mamma turned and presented the little creature to them.

‘Surprise’, Moomintroll thought, really didn’t cover it.

****

Yes, it wasn’t often that one would suddenly become a parent. Especially when, until very recently, one didn’t think it was even _possible_. He had always been told that storks only went to married men and women. He and Snufkin, being both men and coupled in a less official way (apparently so unofficially Pappa hadn’t even _known_), would have normally been excluded entirely. They’d not even considered the possibility.

Yet here it was – a little creature that was clearly half of him and half of Snufkin.

If Moomintroll were entirely honest with himself, he _had_ sort-of, kind-of, just-a-little daydreamed about this. A bit. Now and then. He would never, on pain of death, admit it aloud, but he’d thought about how nice it would be to have a family. At first, obviously, that other adult had been in the vague shape of ‘wife’, probably Snorkmaiden. As he got older the vague impression of that other person in the picture had slowly morphed into being _Snufkin, _which had been very alarming to deal with as a teenager.

He’d ultimately decided it weren’t on the cards (or at least not for a good long while), but he’d still rather liked the idea. He’d always imagined himself being very confident and capable, telling the little one stories and soothing them to sleep and making Snufkin – who was, for once, the nervous one looking to _Moomintroll_ for support – very comfortable and impressed with him.

So why did he not feel at all confident and capable now? All he could do was sit pulling the hair out of his tail and stuttering the same questions over and over (‘How?’ and ‘Are we _sure_?’ having the highest tally).

To everyone’s surprise, Snufkin was remarkably calm. At one point during their chat, he had stood up a little fast, prompting Snorkmaiden to tackle him to the ground (‘I will _not_ let you run away, you old tramp! I am not putting up with Moomintroll’s crying!’). It turned out he was just helping Mamma with the tea. The rest of the time he just sat, sipping tea and staring at the calf as though hypnotised.

Moomintroll had to admit, he hadn’t expected it. Snufkin hated responsibility. He despised and avoided anything that may tie him down. If someone has asked Moomintroll what he thought Snufkin would do in this situation, he’d have guessed run screaming and disappear for a year, at the least.

Pappa told the whole story, explaining everything about the stork and how he and My had care for the little one those first few days, and that disgusting thing about the calf eating half-digested fish. Little My occasionally interrupted, usually when Pappa’s version was becoming too fantastical. Finally he sat down, resting the little calf in his lap.

“Anyway, that’s the story! A splendid and unconventional adventure, don’t you think?” he said, looking rather pleased with him. Neither Moomintroll or Snufkin replied – Moomintroll was still-shell-shocked, and Snufkin was just staring at the calf with an inscrutable expression.

“So, I know this must be shocking, but we do need to decide what to do with the little one,” Mamma said. “You two will need to decide if we’re going to find another family to take care of it, or if we’re going to have another member in ours.”

“Uh. Right now?” Moomintroll asked stupidly. Mamma smiled at him.

“No dear, not this second.”

“The Stork Prince said she’ll be back at the end of the week,” Pappa said. “We can tell her what you want to do then!”

“The end of the week?” Snufkin repeated, and Moomintroll quite agreed. That was practically no time whatsoever! How were they supposed to make such a big decision so quickly?

“Alright, well, first I think it’d be a good thing for both of you to have a hold of the little creature!” Moominpappa said, adjusting the ribbon on the end of the calf’s tail. “That’s a good a place to start as any.”

“Very clever, dear,” Mamma said. “We shall do just that.”

“They vomit, just as a warning,” Snorkmaiden added, arms crossed protectively over her fur.

“And they poop! And pee,” Little My added, grinning nastily. “I think they might start biting soon, too.”

“Yes, yes, all of that,” Mamma said, as though ‘all of that’ wasn’t _completely terrifying_. “Now, which of you would like a go first?”

They sat in silence for a moment. Moomintroll, certain he’d need to volunteer first, tried to pluck up the best of his courage. It was just that the calf looked so terribly _small_. Their ears were still crumpled and so thin the light came through them. Their eyes were pink and barely even open. Surely something so tiny and fragile shouldn’t be handled by _anyone_?

“Go on then,” Snufkin said. Everyone stared at him in shocked silence. Even Little My didn’t have a clever comment.

Mamma recovered the fastest, smiling a little.

“Of course. Careful with their head,” she said, taking the calf from Pappa’s lap and passing it over to Snufkin. He took the little creature quite casually, despite all the eyes in the room set on him (Snorkmaiden seemed to be literally holding her breath). In his paws, the little calf blinked and turned, burying their face in Snufkin’s scarf.

“Hm. Well. That’s easy enough,” he remarked, as though he’d just sewn a button back onto his coat.

“Oh, well done, dear,” Mamma said.

“Rather a natural, I would say,” Pappa said.

“I’m not really doing anything,” Snufkin replied, embarrassed with all the attention. The calf looked remarkably comfortable, clutching at his coat and staring up at him. Perhaps even more comfortable than they’d looked with Mamma. And Moomintroll knew well enough it wasn’t just to do with blood – that was the least important thing in a family, after all.

After everyone finished fussing over Snufkin, Moomintroll felt every eye in the room fall on him. Pappa was staring at him particularly expectantly. He swallowed. Alright! Time to step up to the plate and give it a go. Besides, Snufkin needed to see he was just as mature and together and able to deal with this as he was.

“Can I have a go, Snuf?” he asked, voice coming out a bit more quiet and wobbly than he would have liked. Snufkin glanced across at him. Moomintroll still couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head. It reminded him of the Snufkin of a few years ago, when he had been keeping a big door slammed shut inside him.

“Of course,” he said, after a second. “There’s really not much to have a go of, though.”

Carefully, Snufkin passed the calf over. The little dear really did look like both of them, Moomintroll thought. His paws trembled.

“Gently, dear,” Mamma said, sounding a bit more concerned that Moomintroll liked. Huffing, he adjusted the calf in his arms, trying to look like a confident young Pappa.

The calf stared up at him, eyes very wide. Oh dear, he should probably say something. What did one say to a baby? Especially one that may well go to another family.

Everyone was staring at him. It was all very awkward and nerve-wracking.

“Er. Hello there, little dearie,” he said.

All at once, the calf scrunched their face up very tight, and with a lung strength nobody could expect, began to _shriek_.

“Oh, er! Now, now, don’t – don’t do that!” Moomintroll said, bouncing the calf in his arms. He glanced around at everyone, horrified. Snorkmaiden purser her lips, ears pressed back. Pappa grimaced, and Mamma wrung her paws together nervously. Little My just huffed and pressed her paws over her ears, barking at him to quiet the little monster down.

“Moomintroll!” Sniff shouted from the stairs. “I’m busy up here, quiet it down!”

“Sssh, sssh!” Moomintroll hushed, not sure if he was shushing Sniff or the baby. He looked down at the little calf, his snout turning redder and redder. “Come on, my teeny-weeny, little lovely – oh, no, please, there’s nothing to be upset over.”

The worst thing was that the crying sounded _angry. _How could something so small be so angry?

“Try burping them, dear,” Mamma said.

“Check their nappy,” Snorkmaiden advised.

“Give them a toy!” Sniff yelped from the stairs.

“No, no, they need feeding, that’s it!” Pappa shouted.

“Well, how am I meant to do all of that at once!” Moomintroll snapped, feeling stupid in a way that made him want to be very nasty.

“Moomintroll,” Snufkin said, still very calm. He held his arms out to him, tilting his head a little. Flustered, Moomintroll deposited the calf hastily back in Snufkin’s arms.

They quieted immediately, gurgling happily into Snufkin’s coat.

“Ha! Looks like someone has a preference already!” Little My shouted gleefully. Mamma, glancing at Moomintroll's forlorn expression, shushed her.

“Oh, darling, I’m sure they just like Snufkin so much they didn’t want to be separated from him,” she assured him. “Why don’t we let them have a quick rest and try again?”

They tried for the rest of the afternoon, having Moomintroll take the calf from Mamma and Pappa’s arms instead, from the bassinet, from the floor, even from Sniff (who the baby disliked enough to refuse a feeding from), and every time the result was the same. The calf would settle into Moomintroll’s arms for a moment, long enough to think this time they would lie quietly, and then would begin to scream and squirm, as though desperate to be away. Snufkin would only tolerate this so long before snatching the calf back from him, soothing them instantly.

Eventually, Pappa announced that surely the little one was just over-tired, with so many people, and meeting two new ones. They would all get some rest and try again in the morning.

The calf was not more obliging with him the next morning.

Moomintroll got up early, hoping that perhaps if he were alone the calf would be calmer and let him hold them comfortably. All he achieved was waking everyone in Moominhouse up early.

“Oh, please, please, little love, just be quiet. Why are you so upset? There’s nothing in the world to be upset at so early in the morning,” Moomintroll said. The calf wouldn’t even let him nuzzle them properly, twisting away and screaming even more horribly every time he tried.

“They must be more clever than they look,” Little My said, slicing open a still-thrashing fish with her claws on the kitchen floor. “They already figured out you’re just a big clumsy oaf who’s going to drop them on their head.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” Moomintroll huffed, although he were constantly frightened he was going to do just that. Little My shrugged and dug her face into the fish, chewing up the insides with her sharp little teeth. Moomintroll’s stomach turned at the sight and the smell, and he turned away, throat twinging horribly.

“Do you have to do that in the kitchen?” he said.

“It’s your darling spawn’s breakfast,” Little My said, mouth covered in fish blood.

“Are you sure they can’t take milk?” Moomintroll said. In any of the daydreams he’d had about this sort of thing, he’d never needed to vomit half-digested fish before. He’d always imagined just warm bottles of milk and mashed up carrots and _nice_ things like that, with him confident and not at all nauseous amid it all.

“Afraid not, son,” Pappa said from the doorway, a book under his arm. “I’ve been doing a bit of research, and it sounds like this is something joxters do with their young. Both Snufkin and Little My must be half-joxter.”

He gave Little My an odd look.

“Does that sound right to you?” he asked. Little My looked back at him, just as oddly.

“I suppose it does,” she said. Pappa hummed, rubbing at the end of his snout.

“Hm…well, I have some letters to write, in that case…” Pappa muttered.

Moomintroll felt like he was missing something, but the calf was screaming much too loudly for him to think about it in any further depth.

“Pappa, before that, would you please…” he said, holding out the calf desperately. Pappa sighed and took the calf into his arms, bouncing them until they were soothed.

“Maybe you should be the one doing this, anyway,” Little My said, glancing down at her fish. “It’s _your _stupid baby.”

She had a point, but Moomintroll shook his head. Even just the smell made him feel sick. He couldn’t even gut a fish with a knife. He always just had Mamma or Snufkin do it for him.

“Wouldn’t do any good anyway,” Pappa said, the calf clinging to his neck. “Moomin teeth are a touch too flat to get it right. Besides, we don’t have that odd little tract you seem to have.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Little My said. Without any further word of warning, she retched the completed breakfast into her paw and thrust it towards Pappa. Pappa just accepted the horrible package and started feeding it carefully into the calf’s mouth.

“Pappa, how does that not make you ill?” he groaned, pulling fur out of his tail.

“Used to it by now, my boy!” Pappa said cheerfully.

“Well, I most certainly am not!” Moomintroll said, and left before he really was sick.

****

Moomintroll tried again and again throughout the day to hold the little calf, but every time the result was the same. There would be a precious few seconds where the calf would lay quietly in his arms, staring up at him, just long enough for Moomintroll to have a flickering hope it wouldn’t be the same. And then, as though realising what oaf had hold of them, the calf would scream bloody murder and do everything short of throwing themselves out of his arms.

Eventually, Moomintroll, the calf, and everyone else was exhausted, and Mamma desperately bid him to stop and help her with dinner.

By the time dinner was almost ready to serve, the calf had vanished.

Nobody knew how it happened – Pappa had been upstairs redrafting a chapter, Little My had been taking a catnap in the chandelier, Moomintroll and Mamma had been cooking dinner, and Snorkmaiden had been consumed with her soap opera. By all accounts, the little creature had only been unsupervised for perhaps twenty minutes at the most. Yet when they returned to the living room for a drink before supper, the bassinet was entirely empty.

“Oh dear, they can’t be crawling already can they?” Mamma said, staring down at the empty bassinet with a puzzled expression.

“Ha, maybe they’ve already wandered off to be a proper snufkin,” Little My said.

“Pappa, are you sure you didn’t take them?” Snorkmaiden asked.

“I was busy working on my amendments! It was the last thing on my mind.”

“Why are you all so relaxed!” Moomintroll shouted, making them all jump.

Moomintroll thought he had felt panic before. Yet he was certain, stomach roiling as it was and head spinning, that none of those other experiences could compare. This was the rawest, most basic panic anyone could feel. He felt as though he were going to start hyperventilating, and the fact everyone else seemed so _relaxed_ was simply insulting

“Urgh, calm down, you hormonal twit,” Little My said.

Before Moomintroll could snarl back at her, Mamma put a paw on his shoulder.

“Darling, I really think there’s only one person who would come in and take the little one away,” she said, and then flicked her ears meaningfully towards the bassinet. “And he tends to leave you notes.”

Tail perking up, Moomintroll stooped down to check under the bassinet, quickly spotting a little square of paper that had fallen down the side. He quickly snatched it up.

_Afternoon!_

_Nipped out to catch dinner. Food stored in the fridge is all well and good, but a fresh fish from the river will be much better._

_Don’t worry about a thing, I will return them home before bedtime._

_Snufkin._

“There we go! Snufkin just took the little one out for feeding!” Pappa said cheerfully, apparently considering the case closed.

The case was very much not closed. All that panic Moomintroll felt abruptly turned to anger, and he scrunched the note up in his paw.

“I’m going to the river!” he shouted at nobody in particular, and charged towards the front door.

“Oh dear,” Mamma said.

“_Someone_’s in trouble,” Snorkmaiden remarked. This was much more interesting than her soap opera.

****

“Stupid Snufkin, coming and going as he pleases, no consideration…” Moomintroll muttered, working him up to a pleasant and self-righteous rage. He imagined the argument they were about to have. Snufkin would be very mean and defensive, and Moomintroll would be very correct and reasonable and come off very well, even when he was losing his temper.

He found him eventually, sitting by the side of the river with his legs crossed and the calf calmly laid in the middle of them. He was whistling and feeding fresh line through his fishing rod.

“Snufkin!” Moomintroll said.

Snufkin perked up and smiled at him brightly.

How annoying! It was very difficult to stay angry with him if he did that!

“Moomintroll,” he greeted.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. Snufkin looked at him as though he were quite mad.

“Fishing?”

“Not that!” Moomintroll huffed. “You gave us all a big fright, you know! Snatching the calf away like that!”

This wasn't what he imagined at all. Snufkin wasn't getting mean or defensive, he just looked perplexed.

“Oh. I did leave a note.”

“It fell on the floor! And that’s not the point. I was just in the kitchen, you should have said something!” he said. “It was horrible, seeing them just gone of all of a sudden!”

Snufkin blinked at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it would upset you so much,” he said gently. “I will say something next time, my dearest.”

“Well – well!” Moomintroll spluttered.

Snorkmaiden sometimes called him hopeless, saying that all Snufkin had to do when he was upset was say something sweet and he wouldn’t be able to stay angry. It was very irritating of her, especially as she was correct.

“Moomintroll, don’t pull at your tail,” Snufkin said, leaning over to take it gently from his paws, smoothing out the tuft of fur on the end. “It’s a very handsome tail, and I would hate to see it spoilt.”

Yes, Snorkmaiden was annoyingly correct.

Moomintroll sat down, the worst of his anger had already fizzled away and he didn't have the energy to stoke it further.

“Catch anything?” he said, a bit embarrassed to have carried on.

“Just dinner for the littlest one. You’re lucky, you missed seeing it,” he said, rubbing at his mouth. 

“You fed them directly?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. Snufkin looked away, shading his face with his hat.

“Didn’t really think about it. It was a bit – well, I simply started doing it and then realised I was doing it,” he said, and then shook his head. “It was an odd thing to know how to do without ever being taught. I’m rather glad you didn’t see me do it.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I know you find it crass,” Snufkin said, in such a plain voice nobody could have mistook it for self-pity. “So do I, a little.”

“I would get used to it!”

Moomintroll sounded desperate, even to himself.

They fell silent, both suddenly as awkward with one another as they had been when they were teenagers.

“Well…regardless,” Snufkin said. “Feeding the little one like that, it seems you don’t digest a great deal for yourself in the process. I’ll need something for my own dinner.”

“There’s always dinner at Moominhouse, Snuff,” Moomintroll said, and then hastily added. “If you need it, that is.”

“I’m in the mood for fresh fish tonight,” he said, digging around in his pockets. Eventually he pulled out two lures – one smooth grey-blue one, and one yellow one covered in downy fluff. He looked down at the calf. “Now which shall we use?”

The calf reached their paws up clumsily towards the yellow one. Snufkin nodded.

“Very sensible. Given the season and the weather, that is a much better choice. You’re very clever, little beast,” he said. He glanced over at Moomintroll. “What?”

“Nothing,” Moomintroll said, grinning.

Snufkin merely cocked an eyebrow and returned to his fishing. He attached the yellow lure to the end of his line and cast it out with practiced ease. The calf, now quite awake, continued reaching to try and grab at his paws and at the rod. Snufkin scratched behind their ear and soothed them back down.

“You’re very good with them, you know,” Moomintroll said suddenly.

“I’m not doing anything special,” Snufkin said. “I would have been fishing anyway.”

“They really seem to love you.”

“Rather a big word for such a small creature.”

“…And they don’t like me at _all_.”

Snufkin chuckled.

“At this age, I doubt they have much of an opinion on anything.”

Moomintroll huffed - Snufkin did not understand what he was trying to say in the least. Not that he had much a better clue, feeling as mixed up as he did.

Something snagged on the end of Snufkin’s rod, and he started wrenching it back, reeling it in.

“Pappa said the stork will be back at the end of week. We have to decide what to do,” Moomintroll said.

The rod flew out of Snufkin’s paws and landed in the water.

“Ah, clumsy mistake,” Snufkin said, picking up the calf and holding them out to Moomintroll. “Hold the little one while I fetch it, please.”

“You don’t want that. They will scream so horribly they will scare every last fish in the river away.”

“You’ll do a wonderful job.”

“It’s been a lovely peaceful evening, though!” Moomintroll protested. “I will ruin it for you, doing this.”

“Things needn’t be peaceful all the time,” Snufkin said, with a shrug. “It would be awfully dull.”

They stared at one another.

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” he said, holding out his arms as though Snufkin were about to hand him a live bomb.

“The important thing is to seem calm. Little creatures like this can tell when someone is nervous, and it makes them nervous in turn,” Snufkin said, passing the baby over.

“Right, right. Calm,” Moomintroll squeaked. He accepted the little calf as gently as he could, putting a paw behind their head, feeling the delicate bones of their skull beneath the downy fur. Oh, they were much, much too tiny.

“Right then,” Snufkin said, as Moomintroll tried not to scream. “You two just stand there a moment.”

He waded into the water, where his rod was floating gently downstream. Moomintroll looked down at the calf. They seemed calm enough.

“H-hullo,” he whispered, not knowing what else to say.

The calf started screaming. Snufkin glanced back at them as he reached for his rod.

“No, no, little dearie, don’t,” Moomintroll said, bouncing the calf the way he’d seen mothers do on television. It didn’t seem to work. The little creature really did seem to hate him. He glanced over at Snufkin. He didn’t look terribly impressed. That was the exact _opposite_ of what he wanted.

“Please stop showing me up,” Moomintroll muttered, flushing up to his ears. “Now now now…”

He tried to adjust the little one in his arms, bouncing it, but his paws were shaking and sweaty and the calf was squirming as much as they were capable of, and then they were falling out of his paws.

Abandoning the rod again, Snufkin darted out of the water in two bounds, seizing the calf in his paws before they even began to fall.

“Moomintroll!” he snarled, with a flash of teeth. For just a moment, he sounded like he did when he was talking to a Park Keeper, as though Moomintroll were just some stranger Snufkin needed to defend the things he loved against.

It was gone just as quickly as it came. Expression smoothed over, Snufkin straightened up, quieting the calf in his arms, breathing out.

“Ah, they’re fine. A frightening moment, but –“

Suddenly, Moomintroll didn’t want to hear Snufkin be nice to him. Without another word, he turned tail and ran back to Moominhouse.

****

The next day, Snufkin came by in the morning and took the calf out again. He came up to Moomintroll’s room, gently asking him if he wanted to join him down the forest. Moomintroll declined. Instead, he spent the morning in his room, glowering at the picture on his nightstand. It was probably an odd picture to have – it wasn’t particularly _of_ anything. Just the sea, at dusk. There wasn’t anybody in it, Snufkin being on the other end of the boat preparing dinner, and Moomintroll himself being the only holding the camera. It wasn’t even a good photo, the ship rocking as it was and Moomintroll being his butterfingered self.

It had just felt very momentous, to be out sailing with Snufkin at night, as adults who could go anywhere they pleased and care for themselves. He had felt very bold and competent that night and had wanted to preserve that feeling somehow.

What a stupid thought.

“You are an idiot,” he told the Moomintroll taking the photo.

The empty photo didn’t say anything back, but he rather imagined it agreed.

“Darling!” Mamma called through the door. “Won’t you come have a bit of lunch?”

“I don’t deserve to eat!” Moomintroll moaned, rolling onto back and letting his paw fall across his face. “Just leave me here to starve.”

“Oh good grief!” Little My shouted. “You’re far too old for this, you know!”

“Let me _perish_!”

Behind the door, Mamma sighed.

“…he’ll come out when he’s ready,” she said.

“Haven’t heard that one in a while!” Little My snickered.

“Be kind, dear, he’s had a big shock.”

Moomintroll put his pillow over his head, muffling their voices as they went back downstairs.

“Nobody in this family understands me in the least!” he told his pillow.

Perhaps he was just a bit out of practice with throwing tantrums, but this wasn’t making him feel any better. Instead he just felt stupid and even guiltier for being so clumsy and careless.

It was too late. He’d committed to his room now. If he went downstairs so early he would just look silly.

As he was considering perhaps making a move from sulking on top of the bed to sulking under the bed, the door burst open.

“Moomintroll!” Snorkmaiden shouted. “I need your help getting ready for my date tonight.”

“No,” he said, tunring away from her. “I’m no help to anyone.”

“I wasn’t asking,” she said, and ripped off the blanket. He yelped, sitting up to cover himself (before remembering he didn’t wear clothes anyway), and Snorkmaiden seized his paw, dragging him out of the bed. He always forgot how strong she was. He was marched downstairs and to his room, quite against his will.

It had been a few weeks since he’d last been in Snorkmaiden’s room – they spent far more time outside during the summer, after all, and he and Snufkin had been away for a couple of weeks beside. He was sure that the last time he was in there, it hadn’t been stuffed wall-to-wall with bouquets and boxes of chocolates. Every one was accompanied with a card signed with the same name.

“You’ve been busy,” he remarked, which was perhaps a mean comment, but he was in a mean mood. Snorkmaiden paid no attention to him whatsoever, digging around in a drawer. She pulled out her make-up bag and a hand mirror, thrusting the hand mirror into his paw.

“Hold that still. Little My broke my standing mirror, and I need to do my eye make-up,” she instructed. It was not an order that invited defiance. He sat down opposite her with a grumble, holding up the mirror. At least if he dropped _this_ it didn’t matter.

“Ask who my date is,” she told him, opening a complicated-looking eyeshadow palette. He sighed, resting his cheek on his free paw.

“Let me guess, the Park Keeper’s Nephew again?” he said. The Park Keeper’s Nephew had moved to the valley recently, apparently to learn the tricks of his uncle’s trade. He was a short, nervy little hemulen with fluffy blue hair and flappy ears like a muddler. He seemed a nice enough person, but he was a bit nervous and eager to please for Moomintroll’s tastes.

She smiled, dabbing a sponge cube against her eyelid.

“That’s right. He’s awfully sweet, isn’t he?” she said.

“If that’s what you like, I suppose.”

“Oh, I know he’s not _your_ type. Nowhere near aloof and mysterious enough, and there’s not a single warrant out for his arrest,” she said, giggling.

“He’s too jittery,” Moomintroll grumbled.

“You just think that because he’s absolutely _terrified_ of Snufkin. He’s much more relaxed when we’re on our own.”

“Why would _anyone_ be terrified of Snufkin?” Moomintroll replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s a bunny rabbit, really.”

“I daresay Park Keepers don’t agree with you on that one,” she said. Moomintroll huffed, offended on Snufkin’s behalf. He knew Snufkin would much prefer Park Keepers were frightened of him, but Moomintroll didn’t like anyone thinking badly of him. Especially if they only thought badly of him because he liked to dress differently and didn't live in a house.

“Well, anyway. The Park Keeper is a lout, but his nephew is very sweet. I do quite like him,” Snorkmaiden continued, before Moomintroll could try to further defend Snufkin's honour. “I know it’s early days, but do you think he’s quite keen on me?”

Moomintroll glanced about at all the bouquets and chocolate and hand-written poems.

“I’d say so, yes.”

With a satisfied smile, she returned her attention to her work.

“Well, he’s going to a family wedding this afternoon, and taking me along,” she said. “I’m going to need you to keep Snufkin busy. He’ll turn up to cause trouble otherwise.”

“I think he’ll be preoccupied no matter what _I_ do,” Moomintroll said sulkily.

She switched to a rounder sponge, shading a darker colour towards the crease of her eye.

“Yes, he’s very attached to that little one, isn’t he? Who would have guessed!”

“Hmph.”

Snorkmaiden lifted the sponge o cast him an exasperated scowl.

“Really, Moomintroll? You’re not jealous of a _baby_, are you?”

“Of course not!” he replied, because that would be too silly, even for him. Clearly not quite believing him, Snorkmaiden shook her head and started on her other eye.

“It’s just…Snufkin’s very good at it, isn’t he?” Moomintroll continued. “Being a Pappa and all that.”

“Haha, well, he's better than I expected, anyhow! I thought he’d be halfway up the Lonely Mountains by now,” she said. “We actually spent a lot of time planning how to deal with him panicking before you got back. If I’d known he’d immediately turn into a broody old hen, I’d have spent that time much better!”

“He’s_so _good at it!” Moomintroll whined. “It’s darling, but how is it that Snufkin always knows how to do everything? And why am I always the one playing the useless oaf?”

She laughed.

“You’re not an oaf, Moomintroll. You’re daft, but you’re not an oaf.”

“I just feel like I’m completely useless here. And the calf _hates_ me.”

“The little one’s only two weeks old!” she said. “And you’ve only known they existed five minutes. Don’t be so hard on yourself, you silly thing.”

“They cry if I even touch them!”

“All babies do is cry.”

“I can’t even feed them properly, I get nauseous just smelling it!”

“Species difference, perfectly normal.”

“_And_ I almost dropped them on their head!”

Snorkmaiden paused, leaving her eyeliner half-finished.

“Right. That is a bit oafish, I’ll give you that,” she said, and then leaned back towards the mirror. “But we all make mistakes. Snufkin didn’t even seem in the least upset with you when he came by earlier. He just looked a bit sad you didn’t want to spend the day with him.”

Well, _that_ didn’t make him feel any better. Now he was an almost-baby-murderer _and_ an awful partner.

“It’s just! I always imagined this would be something I’d be good at!” he shouted, flushing. “I thought that just for _once_, I could be the one helping Snufkin with something! That maybe he’d be impressed with me, instead of babysitting me, or –“

“Moomintroll!” Snorkmaiden snapped. “You can save the dramatic arm gestures for _after_ I’ve finished my make-up.”

Moomintroll realised he’d been waving the mirror wildly around the air. He brought it back down towards her with a sigh.

“It just feels a bit like we're back to being kids again,” Moomintroll said, shaking his head. “Snufkin can take care of himself and do everything and is good at everything and everyone _likes_ him. And I’m just a daft little troll trailing around after him. He doesn’t _need_ me for anything.”

Snorkmaiden rolled her eyes.

“Sometimes I forget how dense you are.”

“What a thing to say to someone who’s already upset!”

She ignored him, swiping on a bit of mascara and batting her eyelashes against a piece of tissue paper in her paw.

“There, all done! You can help me pick out what to wear now,” she said, hopping to her feet with an excited giggle. She dashed over to her wardrobe. Moomintroll put down the mirror and followed her, arms folded.

“Hm, do you think I should wear clothes tonight?” she said, carding through her dresses.

“Who’s at the wedding?” Moomintroll asked.

“Hmm, hemulens and muddlers, mostly. He said he’s got a few mymble relatives too. Most of them live out of town.”

“Better wear something, in that case. You know how funny people outside of the Valley can get about it,” he said.

He didn’t particularly understand it, but a lot of trolls outside of the valley were very particular about clothing. On one of their travels, he and Snufkin had went through a town where everyone had given them an incredibly wide berth, some taking one look and scurrying away, others gawking and shaking their heads. One woman even covered her children’s eyes and hurried them off. Moomintroll had been very angry – stomping about and muttering darkly about prejudice and _some people_ and _it’s the 20th century, for Pete’s sake!_, not understanding in the least why Snufkin was laughing too hard to reply.

Until he spotted a fully dressed moomin gaping at him, his monocle having literally popped off and fallen into his glass of wine.

“What are you smiling about?” Snorkmaiden asked, a sly grin on her face. He shook his head, flushing pink.

“Nothing,” he said. Snorkmaiden selected a dark teal dress and laid it out on her bed, shoving the rest into his paws for him to put away. He was no longer stupid enough to argue with Snorkmaiden in fashion mode, so obediently started hanging them back up, turning his back as she changed.

“You know, you can be a bit of a drama queen, Moomintroll,” she said.

He almost dropped the dress he was holding and wheeled around to stare at her. She was smoothing down the folds of her dress, looking for all the world like she hadn’t said anything outrageous.

“You’re one to talk!” he said. Grinning, she flicked him on the snout with her finger.

“And _that_ is exactly why we broke up,” she said. “It was no wonder we were constantly at each other’s throats! We’re _much_ too high-maintenance for each other.”

“I'm not high maintenance…” he muttered, shaking his head at the memory of their adolescent drama. It was funny how, at the time, it had felt momentous and painful and like some kind of epic tragedy nobody else had ever experienced. Yet as adults, they mostly looked back on it as a bunch of silly hormonal fuss, both embarrassing and funny in turn.

“All I’m saying, is you have one thing go wrong and you get very nasty at yourself about it. It makes you miss obvious things,” she said, turning to dig through her ribbon box. “Should I wear red ribbons tonight? They’d go lovely with the dress.”

“That depends. How many dates have you been on?”

“This is our fifth.”

Moomintroll clicked his tongue thoughtfully.

“Then no, much too early.”

“Much too early!” she repeated, giggling. “Poor Snufkin!”

Moomintroll turned brighter than the ribbon.

“I just mean that the Park Keeper will be there! He’s very old-fashioned!” he protested. “He’ll think you’re trying to corrupt his nephew.”

“I rather am,” she said, smirking to herself. “But you have a point – he doesn’t need to know that. What colour then?”

It was a tricky question. Moomintroll glanced over the ribbons in her collection.

“The silver ones. It will match, and it’s more traditional for a wedding.”

“I knew I kept you around for something,” she said, and started fixing her ribbons around her ears.

“So what was this about me missing obvious things?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“You’re just the only one in the Valley who would think Snufkin isn’t impressed by you,” she said. “And it’s _very_ silly you think he doesn’t need you. Especially now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he grumbled.

“Oh, work it out yourself! I don’t have time to walk you through it,” she said, taking off her usual ankle bracelet and replacing with a silver and turquoise one. She snatched a clutch purse from her dressing table and turned around to face him. “Now! Tell me I look very pretty.”

“You look very pretty,” he said dutifully. “I’m sure the Park Keeper’s nephew will be completely corrupted.”

“Aw, you,” she said, bopping him on the snout with her purse. “Now I have to go, but _you_ should stop sulking and go talk to Snufkin.”

“Oh, fine then. But if I drop and kill a baby, it will be entirely your fault.”

“Moomintroll,” she said seriously, laying a paw on his shoulder and staring into his eyes. “I’ll be much too busy tonight to care.”

****

It was easy enough to find Snufkin – he was composing on his mouth-organ. One could always tell when Snufkin was working on a composition. He would walk while he did it, humming to himself, occasionally pausing to sit and play a part of his piece, before walking a little further. Following the intermittent noise took Moomintroll from the house to the woods.

It was a very funny tune, this time, Moomintroll thought. He was usually quite good at guessing what Snufkin was putting into his compositions, but this one was jumping about so much he couldn’t get to grips with it. It would switch from jolly to sad very suddenly, and then he would hear Snufkin stop playing and hiss ‘oh, that’s not right!’ at himself.

Moomintroll tried to watch him at it for a bit, hiding behind a tree, but it was no good trying to sneak up in Snufkin. If even Little My couldn’t manage it, he certainly couldn’t.

“Afternoon, Moomintroll,” he said, not even turning around. He was sitting leaning against a felled tree, the calf leaning back against his stomach, their own little legs crossed. The resemblance between them was briefly uncanny.

“Afternoon,” he said, trying to act like someone who hadn’t spent most of the day sulking in bed like a teenager. “How has your day been?”

“Pleasant enough, just walking around. We had a little picnic for lunch,” he said, playing with the calf’s paws. “The little one seems to like the forest best. And you?”

“Snorkmaiden had me helping her get ready for her date,” he said, sitting down next to them. Snufkin narrowed his eyes.

“Not that park keeper boy, I hope.”

Moomintroll snorted.

“She said she intends to corrupt him completely.”

“Oh!” he said. “Well that’s alright then.”

“I've been instructed to stop you from getting in trouble with the park keepers for the night,” Moomintroll said. Snufkin smirked at him.

“Well, best of luck to you with that,” he said. Moomintroll rolled his eyes.

“Please, you're not as difficult to manage as you like to think,” he said. 

“I'm completely impossible.”

Moomintroll had to laugh at that. They sat in companionable quiet for a little, Snufkin fiddling with his new tune. After a second, he looked over at Moomintroll again.

“About yesterday...”

Oh dear. Yes, he supposed they had talk about this sooner or later.

“I’m very sorry!” he blurted out. “That was horribly clumsy of me!”

“No, no, I’m sorry I snarled at you in such a nasty way. I rather bullied you into it anyway.” Snufkin said, and started polishing his mouth-organ with his sleeve, avoiding Moomintroll’s eye. “You know...I feel like I haven’t been acting like myself lately. Little My called me a hormonal twit earlier.”

“She said the same thing to me!” Moomintroll said, grinning. “What did she call you that for?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Then I absolutely _must_ know.”

“It’s very embarrassing.”

“_Please_, Snuf.”

Snufkin looked over at him, and then released a huge sigh, resolve crumbling. Puppy-dog eyes always worked.

“Well, Sniff tried to take the kit from me at lunch, and I wasn’t quite expecting it and…well, I, er, I may have hissed at him.”

“_Hissed_ at him?”

“Like a cat, apparently.”

“Like a cat!” he repeated, collapsing into helpless laughter.

“I did apologise! I really don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh dear, oh dear. You really shouldn’t be so harsh to poor Sniff. It’s not his fault he’s taller than you,” Moomintroll said.

Snufkin suddenly looked up at the sky.

“Did you see that?” he said.

“See what?”

“I just saw a snowflake.”

“You did not!” Moomintroll said, starting to laugh again.

“No, I did. I’m leaving for winter this second.”

“You are not!” he said, doubled over in hysterics.

“It is really not as funny as you're acting,” Snufkin said, chuckling behind his paw.

“I just wish I’d seen it. It’s so rare to see you make an ass of yourself.”

“Oh get away with you!” he replied, with no real heat, and blew a few notes on his mouthorgan. Moomintroll watched him with his chin on his paws, feeling much better than he had this morning.

“You’re been a little different since we got back,” he said carefully, not sure exactly how to broach the topic. Snufkin stopped playing abruptly, resting the mouth-organ on his lap, where the calf began pawing at it.

“Yes,” he said, frowning. “It’s rather like I suddenly don’t know my own mind as well as I used to.”

“It’s not _bad_! Er, I mean, not entirely – no, I mean - it’s just - you’ve been much calmer than I expected,” Moomintroll said. “I rather thought this would be the kind of thing that scared you. Not that very much does! But – well…”

“Oh, the idea very much does, not so much the reality.”

“That makes no sense at all,” Moomintroll told him. Snufkin hummed, carefully plying his mouth-organ out of the calf’s paws.

“Yes, well…hm, how can I put it? Sometimes I find the idea of something much more frightening than the thing itself,” he said, leaning back and tilting his hat over his face, his paws around the calf. “An idea can get very big in one’s head after all. And an idea can change shape from second to second. Something that has already happened is only what it is, and one simply needs to get on with it.”

“That’s fascinating! You see, I’m quite the opposite! Things always look very straight-forward in my head, and then they’re much more complicated in real life,” he said.

Snufkin tilted the rim of his hat up with his thumb, glancing over at him.

“You have a much sweeter way of looking at the world than I do.”

“That’s just a nice way of saying naïve,” Moomintroll huffed.

“I said what I said, Moomintroll,” he said, and took his mouth-organ into his paws. As he put it to his lips, however, the calf began to cry.

“I didn’t touch them!” Moomintroll said immediately.

“No, no, I believe it’s about time for supper,” Snufkin said, putting the mouth-organ aside and lifting the calf into his paws, giving them a rather serious look. “Thank you for the reminder, little beast. You’re right, it was rude of me to almost forget. Now, we will – Moomintroll, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said tightly.

Oh dear, Moomintroll really would quite like to keep the little creature. Even though he wasn’t good at this at all, and Snufkin would probably disagree, and the whole thing was very sudden and frightening, and it was probably not a sensible idea.

Snufkin blinked at him but didn’t push the issue any further.

“Well, we should head to the river to fish,” Snufkin said, stowing his mouth-organ away in a pocket and holding the calf against his neck.

“Have you had anything but fish the past few days, Snuff?” Moomintroll asked, sniffing. “I swear, you always smell a bit fishy, but it’s like everyone does lately…”

Something clicked in Moomintroll’s head. He leapt to his feet.

“I will meet you at the river later!” he said. “I have something I need to do first.”

“Oh, alright then,” Snufkin said.

“I promise, it’s a good idea. I don’t want to explain it but, you just - I’ll be back, okay?” he said.

“Alright, I’m on the edge of my seat, I assure you,” Snufkin said, tilting his head at him. Grinning with how clever he was, Moomintroll rushed off towards Moominhouse.

****

Moomintroll slammed the front door open and rushed into the kitchen. He threw open the fridge. The jars of fish clinked against each other as he did. There was quite a few of them, lined up neatly in the shelf in the door. Little My and Pappa had gathered a lot, not anticipating Snufkin would spend so much time feeding the little one.

Thankfully, he couldn’t smell them with the jars sealed so tightly shut. They still looked rather grisly though. And they’d been here for a few days, at the very least. He took one jar and unscrewed the cap, taking a whiff. The smell just about punched him in the snout, making him stumble back and his stomach churn. He fumbled with the glass, catching it between his paws and holding his breath against the smell. The time in the fridge hadn’t helped at all.

“This will be worth it, if it works,” he told himself.

Quickly enough he couldn’t overthink it, he upended the jar over his head. It landed on top of his head in a slow slop. One piece slid wetly down his back. Another got stuck in his ear.

Alright, that was – well, that was horrible, but he had survived. He sniffed his own arm. It was hard to tell - had the smell taken? Was it strong enough?

Best be safe.

“Another one, come on Moomintroll, you can do this,” he said, uncapping another and dumping it over himself, and then another, and then another for good measure, scrubbing it into his fur.

“One last one,” he said. He slammed the fridge door shut, revealing Mamma standing in the kitchen doorway, her purse clutched in her hands. It was too late – Moomintroll had already upended the last jar on himself, and it splashed down him, dripping onto the floor in wet clumps.

Mamma stared at him, covered in gore and surrounded by little empty jars. She then looked down at the fish guts smeared across the floor.

“Do clean that up later, dear,” she said.

“Er, right,” he said.

She nodded and went upstairs.

Right, he thought. Time to test this out.

****

He found Snufkin and the calf by the river again. As he approached, Snufkin’s nose twitched and he looked up at Moomintroll approaching.

“You smell nice,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

“Alright, I’m ready! Give me a hold.”

Moomintroll rather anticipated having to convince Snufkin on the point, given what happened the last time he attempted it. Yet Snufkin just nodded and put his rod aside, bundling up the calf to pass over.

Moomintroll would absolutely not disappoint that trust this time! He sat down (just to be extra safe), and took the calf into his arms, careful with their head and certain to not fumble.

“Alright, teeny-weeny, it’s me, but I smell right this time, don’t I?” he cooed. The calf stared at him.

And promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, I am _hopeless_!” he shouted. Snufkin looked at him, eyes wide with alarm.

“Really, Moomintroll, it’s not so awful –“

“No, it is!” he said, fighting to be heard over the calf’s screams. “It would be alright if I only wanted to play house until the stork got back, but I want to keep them!”

Oh no.

He really hadn’t meant to tell him like that.

“You…do?” Snufkin asked, and , oh, he was so surprised, he'd clearly been expecting to give the little one away! What a horrible mess. This was not like other things they disagreed on, where one could compromise and meet each other halfway. On this matter, they needed to come to a complete and whole-hearted agreement. It would never be fair otherwise.

“Yes,” he said, looking at the ground. “I know it’s a terrible idea. We’ve been having a lot of fun travelling lately and this will make that more difficult. And I don’t really want to build my own house, and I know you hate being tied down and –“

“I want to as well!” Snufkin interrupted, and he may as well have slapped Moomintroll across the snout for what a shock it was.

“What? _You_?” he said, mouth hanging open.

“I’m as surprised as anyone, believe me,” he said, holding up his paws as if in self-defence. “I rather thought _you_ didn’t want to.”

“What?”

“Well, you were being rather cagey.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes. We are both idiots.”

“That’s certainly a common opinion,” Snufkin said. “So…we both want them? Then will we keep them?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but how will it _work_? Neither of us would want to live in a house just the two of us and – and, I don’t want to start smoking a pipe and I can’t even imagine you in an apron and – Snufkin, don’t _laugh_!”

“I’m sorry, but are you just imagining us as Mamma and Pappa?”

“Well, I don’t know!” he said. “They’re the only example of parents I have!”

“But not the only ones they are. I mean, I know even less than you, but their way is not the only way,” Snufkin said, picking up his rod again. They were quiet again for a moment, the calf still screaming in Moomintroll’s arms.

“I know! But just – I thought that sort of thing would be nice, but when it actually seemed like we would have to do it, it just made me panic.”

Finally, Snufkin spoke up again, barely audible over the calf:

“I was panicking about all of that as well. I was terrified you’d just start building a house around me and trap me in.”

“I would never do that!” Moomintroll gasped.

“Yes, it was a very scary thought. Until I remembered that,” he said, and tapped his temple with a finger. “As I said. Ideas in one’s head are much bigger and more frightening than reality. And, ah, well...”

Snufkin mumbled something into his hat, but the calf screamed over it entirely.

“What?” Moomintroll said, bouncing the calf in his lap. “You’re going to have to speak up, Snuff!”

“Urgh! I said – oh, nevermind, it’s sentimental old rubbish. I’m still in an odd way.”

“I’m sure it’s not rubbish,” Moomintroll said kindly. “I would like to hear it.”

“Well, just. Yes, I hate being caged in. I always will, we will absolutely not be living in a cottage together year-round, I’d go quite mad,” he said, and shook his head. “But, err…well, I’ve gotten rather used to being _anchored_ here, I suppose. Which is a different feeling altogether.”

“A good feeling?”

“Of course.”

There’d been the idea of that between them, of course, but it was nice to hear it said aloud.

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m really glad to hear that,” Moomintroll said, and then after a moment’s thought, asked: “Do you still feel as if you don’t know your own mind?”

“A little…I thought I would detest the idea of a child completely, but it was quite different to have one in my arms,” he replied, and screwed up his face. “It doesn’t sit well with me, not knowing myself as well as I thought. What else is sitting in there I simply haven’t noticed?”

Moomintroll laughed.

“Well, on the whole, I’m glad there’s still new things to learn about you,” he said. “Learning about you is one of my favourite things, after all.”

Snufkin had nothing to say to that, tipping the brim of his hat over his face.

“I feel rather stupid for not realising that we don’t _need_ to change everything and start living a certain way.”

“So do I,” Snufkin agreed.

“I feel even stupider for not just talking to you in the first place. We should have learned that lesson by now.”

“Moomintroll –“

“I swear, Snuff, from now on I’m really, really just going to _tell_ you when I’m worked up about something, instead of getting all silly about it –“

“Moomintroll, look -”

“I mean really, I was all upset the baby liked you more, even though I’m old enough to know better –“

“That’s lovely, Moomintroll, really, but –“

“And I’m going to pay better attention! You were so distressed and I barely realised! I’ll really make sure I –“

“Moomintroll!” Snufkin interrupted. “Have you noticed we can hear each other now?”

He stared at him gormlessly, and then glanced down at the calf in his arms – lying quiet and content, fingers curled in Moomintroll’s fur.

“Oh,” Moomintroll said reverently. “Look at that.”

“Just needed a bit of time to settle, is all.”

“Oh, look at them! They’re lovely! And not angry at all!”

“Why would a baby be angry…?”

“They _don’t_ hate me!” Moomintroll said, holding the calf to his chest and nuzzling the top of their head.

“Again, I’m really not sure a baby is capable –“

“Shush you. I’m happy.”

Snufkin shook his head but said no more about it, looping an arm around Moomintroll’s back. They sat simply enjoying the quiet, until Moomintroll’s stomach growled loudly.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Snufkin asked sharply.

“Er. I ended up not having the time.”

He hadn’t even noticed he was hungry, really. It had been a long time since he’d gotten overwrought enough to skip meals. It was almost nostalgic, in a way.

Snufkin shook his head and pulled in his line, standing and offering Moomintroll a paw.

“Well, the little one is fed and I’m ready to eat something other than fish. Shall we head back?” he said. “I think Moominpappa and Mamma would be eager to hear we’ve made a decision.”

“And all three of us desperately need a bath anyway. We stink,” Moomintroll said, accepting his paw and getting to his feet. He tucked the calf against his chest. The little creature yawned and nestled against him, soft breath tickling his neck.

“Mm, it’s a nice cologne, but you have overdone it a bit,” Snufkin said.

“Yes, let’s say it’s cologne. Though, for the record, I am not going to wear it again.”

They chatted the way home, the sun dipping low over the Lonely Mountains. Far away, a stork flew over rivers and mountains, heading back towards the valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Snufkin:** I've only known the calf for two minutes but if anything happened to them I'd kill everyone in this Valley and then myself.
> 
> Snorkmaiden gets her way that night and the Park Keeper's Nephew ends up having breakfast in Moominhouse the next morning. He probably tries to pick the calf up before he knows what's up OR that Snufkin’s in the house. RIP.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another holiday fic request! And I'm too lazy to make a seperate fic. Also I feel like this would probably be confusing if you didn't read the previous two chapters.
> 
> Warnings for implicit homophobia and fantastical racism. The Calf's an unusual mix of species and people can be mean about it, basically.

Winter had become something very different in recent years. It wasn’t as though the season itself had changed. The grass still turned pale in Moominvalley as October crept colder and darker around its edges, much of the world still burrowed itself into sleep, and Snufkin still left south before the snow started to fall, heading to where the sun was just a touch brighter, the days a touch longer. He still wandered, finding untouched paths to walk and trees to climb and unusual food to eat, until finally looping back to the valley as the snowdrops started to bloom. Moomintroll still waited, sitting on the old bridge with his feet dangling above the water, rubbing snowdrop petals between his fingers.

All of that was much the same as it was when they were children. Much was.

Yet one thing was undeniably different: these days, Snufkin didn't spend the winter alone.

“Pappa?”

A little paw tugged on the hem of his coat. Snufkin stopped, glancing down at where the Calf was taking off her pack. She sat down with it between her legs, digging around in it.

As it turned out, the little one wasn't well suited to hibernation. After a few years, she began to wake frequently, even more than Moomintroll himself. More troublesome than that was her own wandering streak. One only had to take one's eyes off her and she would wander off in pursuit of some interesting caterpillar, and it made Snufkin much more sympathetic to how he was originally lost.

Two winters ago, in the midst of a heavier snowfall than Moominvalley had seen, Moomintroll woke to the window open and the ladder unrolled, a set of little pawprints leading away into the snow. He had just about had a heart-attack, and the entire Moomin family had ended up running around in the snow looking for her.

They discovered her giggling and skating on the frozen river, completely carefree. She hadn't a clue about the terror she'd just caused her family to go thorugh. When they made her come back to Moominhouse, Moomintroll said she'd wailed like her heart was breaking. The rest of the winter, she slept little and sat near the windows, staring out at the valley, like a creature trapped in a cage she’d long outgrown.

The following autumn, Moomintroll said that perhaps she should go with Snufkin in winter, instead.

It had not been an easy thing for Moomintroll, Snufkin knew. It was already difficult, seeing Snufkin leave. It was only more painful if he took their little daughter with him. And, for Snufkin, losing his solitude was not easy either. Yet both of them knew how cruel it would be to deny any beast their nature. So, until the Calf was old and learned enough to wander alone, this was how it would be.

Now, she seemed to be struggling to find what she needed in her pack. Snufkin paused and turned around to face her.

“What is it, little beast? Do you need to rest?” he asked. She shook her head, digging in her backpack. He sat down opposite her, resting his elbow on his knee.

“I saw a village,” the Calf said. “I saw other children…”

She smiled as she pulled out her dress from the bottom of her bag, shaking it out and smoothing down the collar.

“I see. You’d like to go play with them?” he said, as she started pulling the dress over her head. She nodded, humming beneath the fabric.

“Mhm. And I want them to see the dress Auntie Snorkmaiden made me,” she said, twisting around to pull her tail out of the hole at the back and button it up around it. She was getting dressed with a speed that threatened to get her tangled up entirely.

“Rushing off so urgently! Am I so terribly old and boring?” he asked, mock offended. She looked up, eyes wide, as though she’d been caught out at something.

“No…” she said, ears twitching as they always did when she lied. He grinned. “It’s just…you haven’t had any time alone and it makes you get cranky. Moominpappa said you need your space.”

“Did he now?” he asked. She had a trick of making up nonsense about whichever father was not present to get out of trouble. It would be funny if it hadn't taken him and Moomintroll until this year to work it out. It had caused a lot of confusing arguments in the past.

“Mhm. So. I’ll go play down in the village and you can have time by yourself,” she said, nodding as she fished her lavallière from the pocket of her backpack.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said.

“I know.”

Good grief. The child did not lack for confidence. He watched her struggle to tie the lavallière for a while.

“Pappa,” she whined, gesturing at it. It looked a mess. “You do it!”

He looked at her and then lay down on his side, yawning.

“A Snufkin should do things by herself,” he said with a lazy wave of his paw.

“A Pappa should help his daughter,” she bit back. “Besides. I _can_ do it. But I want it neater than this!”

“Alright, alright,” he said, sensing an argument he was not about to win. He leaned forward and untied the ribbon, retying it neatly so it sat the centre of her collar, the bow symmetrical.

“Would you like your hat?” he asked. She considered it, looking up at the sky.

“Yes please. It looks like it might rain.”

“It looks like it _may_ rain,” he said, looking in his own pack for her hat. It wasn’t much different from his own, although she preferred to tie a ribbon around it, rather than use flowers or rope. She took it and popped it on her head, carefully teasing her moomin ears through the holes on the top.

They’d talked about that once. Snufkin, after much thought and planning, sat her down and explained that there were not many little creatures in the world who were half-troll and half-mumrik. While there was nothing wrong with that, of course, people tended to stare and ask questions about things that were a little unusual. If she didn’t want that, she could cover her ears with her hat and her tail with her dress and she would pass for a furrier-than-usual mumrik. There was no shame, Snufkin had told her, in not wanting foolish people to gawk at her and be unkind.

The Calf had just stared at him as though he was the single stupidest person she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting in her life. After a long while, she simply said: “I like my ears”. She cut holes into her hat that very evening, and that was that.

She stood up, putting her backpack back on.

“Excellent. You look like a little vagabond,” he said approvingly.

“Thank you, Pappa. I’m going to go –“

“Hold on. How will you find your way back?” he said. She sighed, all too familiar with this game. With a long-suffering air, she unsheathed a claw and scratched an ‘X’ onto the trunk of a tree nearby.

“I’ll make marks like this and follow them back. If you go far away, you do it too, and we can find each other.”

“Very clever. But what if it’s dark when you come back? You shan’t be able to see them then.”

“I’ll make a torch!”

“And what if your kindling gets wet?”

“I’ll feel for the grooves with my paws.”

“And what if your paws drop off?”

“Pappa!”

He laughed.

“Very well, off you go then. Remember, if you see the police – run very quickly in the opposite direction and do not stop to chat.”

“I _know_. Bye Pappa, love you.”

She dashed off, scratching marks in the trees as she went. Snufkin watched her go.

Yes, he supposed it had been a while since he’d had any time to himself. He could go for a wander and explore parts of the woods that were a bit too treacherous for a seven-year-old to navigate.

Then again, it was easy to lose track of time when exploring. It would be difficult, Snufkin thought, fi the little one got back and they couldn’t find each other. Oh, yes, she could set up a campsite almost as well as he could at that age, but still, it would be difficult. Children were very small, and as his own mother had proven, it was very easy to lose track of a wanderlusting one.

And what if she tried to _follow_ him to whatever treacherous place he decided to explore? She was nimble and quick-thinking, but accidents happened and little creatures could easily get hurt.

Actually, he thought, he was feeling rather lazy and didn’t want to go exploring at all. The forest was perfectly nice and he could eavesdrop on the birds from one of the trees, gather some inspiration for his spring tune.

Yes, he decided, springing up the trunk of the tree to find a nice branch to lounge on. That was a fine way to spend the afternoon, really.

****

The local sparrows, it turned out, had a great deal to gossip about. The latest topic was some feather-head from their flock who was attempting to court a caged canary from the village. It had apparently gotten to the point where she was rolling in butter to try and trick his owners into taking her in as a pet as well. It all sounded rather scandalous.

Unfortunately, Snufkin didn’t get to hear if the little sparrow’s trick worked, because the flock was scared away by a kerfuffle making its way through the woods. A man was ranting and stomping through the trees, barking about ruffians and the youth of the day and a whole bunch of other nonsense. Two little children’s voices were piping up here and there, but the man was so noisy Snufkin couldn’t make it out.

Really now. Snufkin thought there were few things more pathetic than a grown man making more of a fuss than a child. It always embarrassed him to see other parents shouting at their children in such a way, with the child only standing there looking at the floor. 

“So where’s this father of yours? I need a word with him!”

“Let me go!”

Snufkin perked up and leapt onto a lower branch – sure enough, that was his own little child, being pulled around by the arm by some angry looking hemulen. A little hemulen boy trailed behind them, looking at the floor in that down-trodden way of children who were shouted at much too often.

His instinct was to leap in and deal with the situation, but he had long-ago decided that the Calf should solve her own problems, wherever she could. He would see what she did first.

“I think you lied to me, why would your father be out here, you little thief!” the hemulen continued. “You probably don’t want the telling-off he’ll give you. Or are you some foundling house runaway?”

“I’m not lying!” she continued. “Now let me go! You’re _hurting_ me.”

Oh, now Snufkin could not have that.

He leapt down to the forest floor in one swift movement. As he hoped, the hemulen started and released the Calf’s arm in fright.

“Pappa!” she shouted, and rushed into his arms, tears pricking at her eyes. He folded her arms around her, glaring up at the hemulen. The hemulen stared at him, very wide-eyed – possibly he’d neither seen a snufkin with a father (or a snufkin with a child, as the case may be) – but recovered himself with a cough, bringing himself to his full height. Snufkin put his chin on top of the Calf’s head and didn’t budge an inch.

“What are you two supposed to be, exactly?” the hemulen said.

“I _told_ you, I’m Snufkin,” the Calf snapped. “In the winter, anyway. I’m Moominmaiden in the summer.”

“Rubbish!”

“And I’m Snufkinpappa,” Snufkin said.

“Oh, and I suppose you’re a fillyjonk in summer?” the hemulen said with a sneer.

“No, I’m terribly dull compared to my daughter. I stay a snufkin all year round,” he said. The little hemulen boy stared, practically folding in on himself. The poor thing probably wanted this over and done with as soon as possible. Snufkin forced himself to remain calm.

“Now, introductions aside, is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I know one thing your child _definitely _is and that is a thief! She was caught stealing from my fields!” the hemulen shouted. “Now if your little girl wants to end up in prison, that's all well and good, but she was encouraging my son to do the same!”

“Father –“ the little hemulen boy began, but his father wasn’t listening.

“And with such a casual attitude!” he continued, “Just helping herself, like nothing was the matter!”

Snufkin frowned and looked down at the Calf.

“How much did you take?” Snufkin asked.

“She took a cabbage and three carrots and –“

“I wasn’t asking you,” Snufkin snapped, and then returned his gaze to the Calf, still shaking in his arms. “How much did you take, little one?”

“A cabbage, three carrots, an onion, and a parsnip,” she said quietly. “The other children had never cooked for themselves so I was gonna make ‘em my soup…”

“A parsnip! I didn’t even notice the parsnip!” the hemulen raged.

“Right then,” Snufkin continued, as though the hemulen wasn’t even there. “Where did you get them from?”

“The edges, like you always told me to.”

“Hm. And how big was the field?”

She thought about it fora moment.

“An acre,” she concluded, “at least.”

“An acre!” the hemulen repeated, as though this was the worst of it. “My fields are _three_ acres, brat!”

“Is losing six vegetables from a field of three acres is really so devastating?” Snufkin said. The hemulen's face began to turn purple, and he spluttered as though he’d lost all command of spoken language. Snufkin took the opportunity to press on with his argument:

“You still have plenty of food. Losing a little to feed some children is hardly worth this fuss.”

“What are you talking about, enough food?” the hemulen spat, as though he’d never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. “Those are my _profits_ she was stealing there!”

“Capitalist,” the Calf muttered, making it very difficult for Snufkin to keep a straight face.

“This is going nowhere,” the hemulen growled, and then looked about as though searching for something. “Oi, where’s your wife? Maybe I’ll get more sense out of her!”

Snufkin snorted, glad neither Little My or Snorkmaiden were around to hear that one.

“I don’t have one.”

“Then where is her mother!”

“She doesn’t have one.”

A vein in the hemulen's head throbbed.

“Every child has a mother,” he said.

“So you say. Unfortunately, just saying something doesn’t make it true.”

“Read a newspaper,” the Calf grumbled. “It’s not just mammas and pappas anymore.”

This seemed to bet too much for the hemulen, as he threw up his paws, stomped his foot and shouted:

“Outrageous nonsense!”

The hemulen was so purple and so angry and so beside himself, that Snufkin actually began to feel a little sorry for him. What a sad life the man must lead to become so agitated over half a basket of vegetables and the family life of perfect strangers.

“You are both impossible!” the hemulen bellowed. “I have half a mind to call the authorities.”

“You’d be wasting your time,” Snufkin said. “We’re leaving anyway.”

The hemulen was about to say something else, when his little child tugged on his dress.

“Father, can we go home? It’s cold,” the little hemulen said, and then looked at the ground. “I’m sorry about the vegetables…”

To their luck, the hemulen seemed to soften just a touch at his son’s apology. He looked back at the two snufkins, face twisted.

“Right. Well, shift off fast. We don’t really need your type crawling about anyway,” the hemulen snapped. An angry shiver went down Snufkin’s spine, and he felt the Calf’s claws in his coat, but they both kept their mouths shut.

Some fools weren’t worth the fight, Snufkin had told her once. It was smarter, sometimes, to just get clear of them.

Good advice that he had learned the hard way, but still found unpleasant to obey.

The hemulen seized his son’s paw and dragged them off. The little boy only had time to look over his shoulder and mutter a meek ‘Bye Snufkin…’ before being hauled off.

Snufkin huffed and stood, the Calf still bundled in his arms. Snufkin walked with his back towards the village, aiming for nothing much more than putting a great deal of distance between them. Normally, she did not like to be carried, as she considered herself much too old for such things. Now, she kept her paws looped around his neck, her snout buried in his shoulder.

Every creature needed to eventually learn that some people would hurt them on purpose, Snufkin supposed. All the same, something being necessary did not stop it from being unpleasant. He wished he could have kept it from her for longer, somehow.

“Pappa?” she said finally.

“Yes, little beast?”

“I’d like to walk now, please.”

Snufkin nodded and opened his arms, letting the smaller snufkin bounce down to the floor, landing on her four paws. She straightened up, straightening up her dress.

“That man was horrible and I shan’t pay any attention to him,” she said with great certainty. “It’s odd though. His son was so nice. How can a horrid father have a nice son?”

“Perhaps his mother is lovely, and he takes after her.”

She frowned, unconvinced with this explanation.

“Maybe,” she said, and reached out a paw to take Snufkin’s. That was unusual - she usually considered it too babyish to hold paws. They walked for a little while in silence.

“Everybody else thought it was very interesting that I had no mother and two pappas. And that I had moomin ears and a mumrik nose,” she said after a while.

“Did they now?”

“Yes! One girl said it sounded good fun and everyone really liked my hat,” she said thoughtfully. “I think that people _can _grow up horrid and stupid like that man, but everyone starts off nice. It’s _socialisation_.”

She pronounced the word with great care, as she always did with words she picked up from one of Moominpappa’s books.

“An astute observation,” he said. She brightened up at the praise.

“And,” she continued grandly, clearly very proud of herself now, “I think more people end up nice than end up horrid.”

He hummed thoughtfully.

“I believe you may be right. It’s only a shame horrid people are also so loud.”

“Yes. They should shut up.”

He laughed.

“Right you are. So, what other mischief did you get up to?”

“Oh, so before we went to get ingredients, I showed everyone how to build a fire…”

With great enthusiasm, she began detailing the afternoon’s adventures. The two snufkins walked, deep in conversation, and in no time at all it felt as though the small unpleasantness of the day was long behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Every reasonable person I know**: Wow the naming conventions in the Moomin books are really convoluted and confusing. :/ For the sake of making things easier I'm just going to give OCs proper names.  
**Me, the most unnecessarily contrary person alive**: I love the convoluted naming conventions and I am going to make it even more confusing by adding a character who has three different names depending on who's talking about her and what time of year it is. Also she shares one of her names with an existing character.


End file.
